Having my way with Ulysses

Like a cat sitting beyond a dog’s jump.

Beppo the cat watched us out of his eternity but did nothing to save me. Nor did the blue earthenware tiger I have in my bedroom, nor the magicians and genies in the volume of The Thousand and One Nights.

8:49 pm

They know what they are doing, eyes all over them.  Don’t even have to look, they know just what is where and who.  There’s a sense to it.  Walk into a room and feel which ones want what and who wants someone else.  It’s a pressure in the air or something.  I’ve seen it, what am I, blind?  They feel that I want to fuck you feeling coming from some corner or other.  Directly behind.  You think that turns off because of a husband?  Look at Molly after the Glencree dinner, telling me Val Dillon had his eye on her, and she cracking nuts with her teeth like a tiger.  She was sending a message in a bottle and no mistaking it.  And mister lord mayor sir knows a ball buster when he wants one.  She knew her own business on the way home too, and then telling me after about her first kiss with Mulvey up against the Moorish wall.  Just like a woman to camouflage with timing.  And me the blank clock.  She saw, fine eyes too, clear, she saw with her every eye what I wanted to hear and saw to it.  Sharp as needles.  Milly too, practicing in front of a mirror. Gets it from her father, mother I mean.

The paly light of evening falls upon a face infinitely sad and wistful.

Lady, you are the fairest here8:14 pm

You are lovely, Gerty, you know that don’t you sweetie.  Oh pobrecita, please don’t cry.  I see your face, so infinitely sad, wistful, but chica your face is going to freeze that way. You’re doing the ugly cry honey, I’m here to tell you it doesn’t look good.  Yes, you need to have a good cry, let off those pent-up feelings, but honey.  Honey.  The snot.  Here, blow.  You are getting all blotchy and your eyes are going to swell up.  Take a peek, go ahead.  Look at me.  See?  Now come on, you know how to cry nicely in front of me, let’s take it down a notch and try again.  There you go.  That’s better.  Now I can give you a nice lovely reflection.  You are lovely, Gerty.

Leavetaking

Where there is desire, the power relation is already present: an illusion, then to denounce this relation for a repression exerted after the event; but vanity as well, to go questing after a desire that is beyond the reach of power.11:32 pm

I won’t get my nose bent out of shape about it, and here’s the snub.  Invisibility is a trap.  Let’s make no illusions about it.  But instead of entering into the symbolic order, the invisible wafts around the edges of it wanting.  And whatever is in can be as ugly as homemade sin, but the invisible wafts close.  Look at me.  Can you see me now?  Can you see me no?   No entry.  Don’t mind me, just passing by.  I’ll just take a look at myself in this covered mirror, check if all visible light bends around me.  I look.  Don’t look like I did when I didn’t know my own effect.  Doesn’t matter.  No matter.  Just a bit of insubstantiality, don’t mind me.  I’ll just.  Well, taking off.  On my way now.  Going.  I’ll just be heading.  What’s that?  Oh, I thought you were talking to me.  Ok then.  I’ll see you.  I’ll see you.

They didn’t want that kind of talk in a respectable licensed premises.

Poor Joseph, God is a hard act to follow.5:13 pm

[Scene: Just after hours at the offices of Holy Mother Public Relations, Empyrean Building, Conference room whatsits. You know the one. Near whatdoyoucallhim. Around the ideal form of a conference room table sit Cassandra, Lizzy Twigg, Māyā, Banba, Jupiter, Mars, and Paddy Dignam. Mary, known to the world as the Holy Mother of God, Holy Virgin of virgins, Mother of Christ, Mother of the Church, Mother of divine grace, Mother most pure, Mother most chaste, Mother inviolate, Mother undefiled, Mother most amiable, Mother most admirable, Mother of good counsel, Mother of our Creator, Mother of our Savior, Virgin most prudent, Virgin most venerable, Virgin most renowned, Virgin most powerful, Virgin most merciful, Virgin most faithful, Mirror of justice, Seat of wisdom, Cause of our joy, Spiritual vessel, Vessel of honor, Singular vessel of devotion, Mystical rose, Tower of David, Tower of ivory, House of gold, Ark of the covenant, Gate of heaven, Morning star, Health of the sick, Refuge of sinners, Comforter of the afflicted, Help of Christians, Queen of angels, Queen of patriarchs, Queen of prophets, Queen of apostles, Queen of martyrs, Queen of confessors, Queen of virgins, Queen of all saints, Queen conceived without original sin, Queen assumed into heaven, Queen of the most holy Rosary, Queen of families, Queen of peace, and CEO of Holy Mother Public Relations Inc., is standing at the door irritated as it is enough already with the honorifics so just shut up for the love of Christmas and let her call it a day already.]

Mary: Ok, so.

Lizzie Twigg: [Effusively] Holy Mary, Mother of God, Blessed art thou among

Mary: Yes, Yes. Well. If you have all that you need I’ll just be

Lizzie Twig: Yes I think so. Would be nice if the light was a bit more ruby in color, but can’t have

Mary: Oh please, there are bigger disappointments to contend with. Believe me, I know all too well. Lighting is nothing. Thy will be done.

[Increasing luminosity of ruby light becomes gradually visible]

Lizzie Twigg: Thanks! That’s wonderful, thank you so much, blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy

Mary: [Exiting] Yes, great. Leaving. If I have to hear again about my fruitful womb I’ll rip it out myself and slap somebody with it, I swear to God I will.

Cassandra: Thank Jupiter she’s gone!

Jupiter: You’re welcome.

Cassandra: I’ve been dying to vent about her idiot son, thank Jupiter you thought of borrowing this room Lizzie, I don’t think I could stand another séance with Jesus as Stage Manager.

Jupiter: You’re welcome. Assistant Stage Manager. Is that why we aren’t on God’s stage?

Lizzie Twigg: Amen Cassandra. And Jupiter, well, that whole issue is better left unsaid for now. So, let’s get on with it then. We might need to change our placement around the table. Mars, Jupiter, you are sitting on the wrong side of Māyā.

Cassandra: Agreed. They are making mischief with the vibrations.

Māyā: मय सोन इस अन एक्ष्केल्लेन्त स्तगे मनगेर.

Mars: [Combative] But Buddha’s not Equity.

Banba: Krak!

Cassandra: Banba, that’s really unhelpful. Not that it matters, this séance isn’t going to work. Can you please return to human form so we can get on with it.

Banba: [Shedding black feathers everywhere and reappearing as a hag in a red cloak with red eyebrows and wailing.] Fine. But when you need somebody to fly through mirrors or some other nonsense don’t come flapping to me.

Paddy Dignam: [Only partially aware of his surroundings] Who are you people? What the hell is this? Did that bloody bird just turn into a woman?

Cassandra: Relax honey, you’re dead. It will be ok.

Paddy Dignam: Who’s dead? I’m no more dead than you are.

Cassandra: Oh sweetheart, believe me, you’ve kicked the bucket. You’re dead. You have ceased to be. You have shuffled off this mortal coil. You’re gone. Bereft of life. Resting in peace. Defunct. Deceased. Belly up. Worm food. Pushing up daisies. History. Passed over, on, and away. Expired. Croaked. Departed. Snuffed it. Bit it. Met your maker. Crossed over. Bought the farm. Checked out. Perished. Cut off. Extinct. Lifeless. Liquidated. Honey, they took the liberty of burying your body about six feet under and it’s currently being eaten by rats.

Banba: Decomposing nicely, I gather.

Māyā: हे इस सुफ़्फ़ेरिन्ग उन्देर अन इल्लुसिओन्. मय्बे गिवे हिं सोमेथिन्ग तो द्रिन्क ?

Cassandra: Would you like something to drink?

Paddy Dignam: Buttermilk

Māyā: दिस्गुस्तिन्ग.

Cassandra: Jupiter?

Jupiter: Son?

Mars: [Producing buttermilk] Here you go, you pansy.

Lizzie Twigg: Ok, people, can we get on with it. Banba, you can be a raven if you want, I don’t think it will disrupt the séance.

Banba: Krak!

Lizzie Twigg: Right. So we are making another attempt to bring back AE. He resurrected himself too long ago now for anybody’s comfort and he must be decomposing badly by now. Also, knowing him, he has plans to disrupt the great divide between the living and, well, us.

Cassandra: The dead.

Paddy Dignam: [Flabbergasted] I beg your parsnips, I’m not dead.

Cassandra: Yes, you are dead.

Paddy Dignam: I’m not!

Cassandra: Fine, don’t believe me. Whatever. Om Mani Padme Hum.

Lizzie Twigg: So the idea is to develop a window to the other side, so we might see AE as if in a mirror dimly, and perhaps persuade him to come back. Mr. Dignam here being newly deceased

Paddy Dignam: I’m not dead!

Lizzie Twigg: Being newly deceased Mr. Dignam will have a particularly lifelike etheric double, so he might be able to speak most clearly to AE and relay a message from us. Ideally we would need the finest man, with the finest purest character, the noblest, the truest.

Cassandra: But Dignam will have to do.

Lizzie Twigg: Well, yes. So, Cassandra, are you ready?

Cassandra: [While fluttering her hands] Oh AE, returned falsely to mortal haunts, sun of our morning, fleet be your foot on the bracken: AE of the beamy brow. Wail Banba with the wind.

Banba: Krak!

Māyā: लूक, अ दिं मिर्रोर, इ सी हिं !

Lizzie Twigg: AE! Ok, Mr. Dignam, stick your head in there and tell him to come back!

Cassandra: We call upon the etheric double of Paddy Dignam to speak his message to the living.

Paddy Dignam: [Inserting his head into the mirror] Alf! Alf Bergan! If you see my son tell him my boots are behind the commode!

Cassandra: Oh Christ, haul him back in. I told you this wouldn’t work.

Mirror there.

At times in the evenings a face looks at us out of the depths of a mirror; Art should be like that mirror Which reveals to us our own face. They say that Ulysses, sated with marvels, Wept tears of love at the sight of his Ithaca, Green and humble. Art is that Ithaca Of green eternity, not of marvels. It is also like the river with no end That flows and remains and is the mirror of one same Inconstant Heraclitus, who is the same And is another, like the river with no end.4:38 pm

Proportio dupla

 

I’m no expert at it, but I’m good at feeling anyone looking at me. I’ll gaze this way. Yes. Gaze far sidewise. I see something thoughtfully just there, past the wall. Look at how deep thinking I am, mouth slightly parted, longing eyes. Not sure which is my best side. Move slowly, with the music just a little closer, almost there. Yes. Mirror. Now both sides are facing, yet I present the unapproachable profile. Irresistable. I feel you in the air. The weight of your gaze resonates according to your distance from my profile. Perfect. I’m busy looking far out this way, so you can busy yourself looking at me. Watch me breathe. Deep breathing from the chest. In through the nose, out through the slightly parted mouth. Makes my lips pucker just enough, fills out that bottom one. You are still looking. I can tell. I’m still gazing over there but farther now. I’m gazing into a distance so far so far. I gaze erotically into the other side of the world. Longingly. Soulfully. I’m not your average run of the mill. Not in the same way that Cowley isn’t a priest. More like how the guy in the song isn’t a priest. But don’t think about that. Just gazing soulfully next to the mirror so you can gaze openly. Take your time. I can do this as long as it takes.

Musemathematics. And you think you’re listening to the etherial.

Be but in tune with yourself, madam, 'tis no matter how high or how low you take it.4:21 pm

Penseroso

Mathematics is not arithmetic.  Is that what you thought?  Oh my darling.  Arithmetic is  2*2/2=1+1.  That’s just juggling numbers.  But please, my delightful, look around you.  Go ahead.  light on something.  That is not a something, that is a collection of number in relationships, in patterns, whispering the universal language.  Some people, eccentrics mostly bless their hearts, think God is an external force.  Now I know my dear that you know better.  God is universal harmony perceived through number.  And if God is this universal harmony perceived through number, and play along, then time is the soul of God.  But don’t listen to me, who am I?  I am only God.  Listen to this:

 

Hear that?  Numbers.  Music is the voice of mathematics.  Go look in the mirror (haven’t we done this before?) and open your mouth wide.  Look in there, all the way in.  Two tiny silky chords, wonderful, more than all others: the human voice.  Vibrate those little silky strings and out comes number.  Double that number and there you are, one octave higher.  Divide it in half, one octave lower.  An octave is the sound of the number 2.  Divide by 3 and you get the musical fifth, the fifth note on the scale.  Bald deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink.  Quite.  Octaves and fifths love to make love.  Men and women, when left undisturbed, naturally sing a 5th apart.  Harmonious.  The number 4 = 2*2 = the second octave.  The number 5 is the musical third  (Pat.  Glorious that symmetry under the cemetery wall).   Bald Pat Quite: a chord.  You want a little dissonance?  Try the numbers 7, 11, and 13.  Heavy mojo in those numbers.  I don’t even want to tell you about the number 20. Want to get a little irrational?  Play the strings.  Guitar frets are placed according to the 12th root of 2.  Oh the numbers.  Durations of notes have ratios too.  And now we get into geometry.  Oh my beauteous ones.  If I could only tell you.  Or show you.  Or sing you.  Or touch you.  Or taste you.  If only.  Then I will never leave you.  And you will never leave me.  We can entwine in mathematical harmonies and whisper eternality into each other’s vibrating tympanic membranes.  You will weave patterns with your body and look in triangular mirrors.  But then you will see God and leave me to suffer.  Snivel.  Big spanishy eyes goggling at nothing.  Wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevyhair un comb:’d.

Taunted them still, bending, suspending, with wilfull eyes.

But they -- lovelier than ever -- stretched their necks and turned, let their awesome hair flutter free in the wind, and freely stretched their claws on the rocks. They no longer had any desire to allure; all that they wanted was to hold as long as they could the radiance that fell from Ulysses' great eyes. If the Sirens had possessed consciousness they would have been annihilated at that moment. But they remained as they had been; all that had happened was that Ulysses had escaped them.4:04 pm

Dolore

I’m drowning again.  A slow cool green drop through the mirror.  A dim seagreen sliding shadow.  Depths.  Why did he leave just after?  I had him too.  I had him smackwarm against my smackable, no contest.  The odds were in my favor.  Then he left so fast.  He was boiling then gone just like that.  Maybe I was too silent.  Maybe.  Well.  I know it’s useless to wonder.  And useless to feel the drowning, but I feel it, the fluxing inwardness of dim seagreen filling my useless lungs.  I’m sinking again.  At the bottom of the dim seagreen I start my decline.  I’ve done this before.  Throw me a life ring will you?  I can hear that sob of breath, are you drowning too?  Do your disappointments sink you too?  You’re crying for nothing.  Ever heard that?  Anybody ever anywhere sing those words to you?  You’re crying for nothing.  It’s my chorus.  Everything and nothing.  Same thing.  If it is ineffable, is it nothing or everything?  Speak to me.  No.  Save your breath.  What words could you possibly say?  But I suppose you feel you must because silence is so brutally negating.  Such violence in silence.  I know you drown sometimes too.  But I see you.  I can see you.  I hear you too.  Come on now, pull yourself out.  You’re not as invisible as you think.  Hold on baby.  I’m standing right here.  Listen to me.  You gotta hold on.

I don’t think you knew him or perhaps you did, though.

And toward a stairway, he and I, together, turned; and just as soon as I was at the first step, I sensed something much like the motion of a wing, and wind that beat against my face, and words: "Beati pacifici, those free of evil anger!"

I’ve tried so many people I can’t tell if I’m coming or going.  School for the children, money, insurance question.  Insurance later with Bloom, much kindness in him.  Poor Dignam, decent little soul, a bit low sized.  We’ll help his children up, and his widow, give them peace.  Down to me to arrange it.  Burned by gold heads appear above the crossblind of their usual window.  She won’t have to ascend and descend other’s staircases.  Descending the staircase, Nannetti, hailed his fellow council members ascending the staircase.  Dual mirrors in a shop window supervise Blazes Boylan, virile, energies rising, intercepting Bob Doran, emasculated, on the downward arc of his annual bender.  Jimmy Henry and Long John Fanning: they’ll give on the spot, no hesitation, no questions.  They’ll do it purely for goodness’ sake.

Where fallen archangels flung the stars of their brows.

Flatterers and slanderers are of the same school. These are the two sirens that we find in books of kinds of beasts. For it is an apparition of the sea that we call sirens. They have bodies of women and tails of fish. And claws of eagles. And sing sweet songs that make sailors sleep, and afterward they devour them. That's the flatterer. It is a fair, beautiful, elegant song that makes the people sleep. And in fair sin. We.  The two roaring worlds without and within: beingless beings.  And I.  Shatter them and myself in one blow.  Am I bitterer against others or against myself?  Me, we.  They, two women no longer young carry home from the sea a midwife’s bag with trailing navel cord containing eleven cockles.  Dilly, wants to speak French and visit the Paris I created.  Is it any good?  The shadows of my mind.  I see her mirror me.  Who do others see when they see me?  Do they see me timedulled and dusty?  Dreaming worlds words.  Dilly, lying in bed with her imitation gold bracelet seeing herself as Dan Kelly sees her.  Se el yilo she can say, nebrakada masculinum! Amor me solo! Sanktus! Amen.  Nebrakada.  A mashup of words.  What does it mean?  Neb: because, brak: lack, braka: crashing, ne: not, rakad: shave, rak: linear, kada: when.  Da.  I see it now.  Yes.  Woo me with Stephano Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti: words of my longing.  Father Conmee longing for the hours, murmurs vespers five hours early.   Dutch, Swedish, Czech, Portuguese, Polish, French, Croatian, Russian.  An American word.  What are you doing here?   Who has passed here before me?  You?  Are you we?  Tell me the secret of all secrets.  Amor me solo!  Your world behind the glass, and my world within the glass, and between them we swirl.  Smash your way into me, my misery.  We will be we.  Together we will drown our agenbite of inwit.  We will be the darkness shining in brightness.  We will coil our inwit in our seaweed hair and sing it to sleep.  Fair beautiful sleep.  Then we will bite!  We will chew!  We will drown it in a salt green death.  We shall be misery standing from everlasting to everlasting.

Do you know what you look like?

Of what Adam predating paradise, of what inscrutable divinity are all of us a broken mirror-image?Barang!

I had been waiting all day, watching the pawn shop. Instructive. Then he came round the corner, half drunk. The look of him. An embarrassment. On whose shoulder will I rest my head, coming from a situation like this? He had money.
Melancholy God, how long had she been standing there looking like her uncle with her head on her shoulder. She’ll get curvature of the spine if she doesn’t watch out. An embarrassment standing there. Wants money.

whewe ewerg moey goig ewerg awayg ombogy oo pick ig up.

I smelled he had been drinking now, but I learned from him how to get what we need. Wait awhile, I thought, and I talk something out of him.  Just wait awhile. He gave me $5.00.  It was short shrift for a long day, watching the pawn shop for hours.  He’ll leave us first chance he gets. He says so, but we are still stuck with him.  We are worse off for him but if he died?  Even worse.  Watching all day.  He said he got ten bucks but I know he has more.  Can’t he look money somewhere? Well, he is funny, my dad.
I was not drinking, then.  Who taught her to talk like that? Insolent pack of bitches. They’ll get short shrift and a long day from me.  I’ll leave them. They’d be happy to see me dead, curse their souls.  She should watch that pawn shop, learn something. Told her I got $10.00 from Jack Power.  Where am I going to look for money? It’s not like it’s just lying around in the gutters waiting to be picked up. She got three more quarters out of me.  Skinny thing needs to eat something. I’ll be home with her soon. My girl.

A series of stretch suv’s (one bearing flags) enters a highway cleared of cars.