Having my way with Ulysses

Separating forces.

• Ithaca

A god limited in his omniscience and of his acts, and creating things that lead to horror. He is a . . . sick god, whose ambitions exceed his powers and who does not realize it at first. A god who has created systems or mechanisms that served specific ends but have now overstepped and betrayed them. And he has created eternity, which was to have measured his power, and which measures his unending defeat.2:09 am

Anagrams of names: Uslessly wishy-washy, smug vanity. Try this one on, as kinetic poetry it will invoke either desire or loathing:

Nova coin tinker,
(Akin to conniver!)
Can’t invoke iron?
Crave ion, not ink:
A rock invention.

See? Feel it? That ain’t desire. Shall we try for something more esthetic? Something static, that we might arrest our minds (put a pin in that!) just enough to feel ourselves freely rising above desire and loathing without fear of floating away. Words that say you are mine, the world is mine.

You are mine. The world is mine.
The world is mined. You are mined.
You are mind. The world is mind.

Too Stanislaw Lem? Perhaps we should stick to mental poetry, otherwise we are not gods but tinkers.

Too poetical that about the sad. Music did that.

• Sirens

Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast, To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak. I've read, that things inanimate have mov'd, And, as with living Souls, have been inform'd, By Magick Numbers and persuasive Sound. What then am I? Am I more senseless grown Than Trees, or Flint? O force of constant Woe! 'Tis not in Harmony to calm my Griefs. Anselmo sleeps, and is at Peace; last Night The silent Tomb receiv'd the good Old King; He and his Sorrows now are safely lodg'd Within its cold, but hospitable Bosom. Why am not I at Peace?

 

4:25 pm

Stretto

Dear sir Mady,

Got your note cute as a rat and flower where the hell did I put it some pocket or other it is utterly impossible to write today.  Bore this, my patience are exhausted.  I’m just reflecting on you know what I mean.  Don’t make half so free.  Accept my poor little present attached ’till we are better acquainted.  Might be what you like.  Elijah is coming really and truly.  Write me a long answer.  Do you despise me?  Have you the horn?  I’m so excited why do you call me naughty?  You naughty too?  O dirty Mairy lost the string of her drawers.  Bye for today.  Yes, yes, I will tell you what perfume.  Time makes the tune.  I want you to keep it up, call me that other world.  You must believe it is true.  I swear to Saint Cecilia, best references, it will excite me.  You know how.

In haste,
Henry what is he playing now.

ps.  Who will you pun punish me.  Whack.  Tell me I want to know, of course if I didn’t I wouldn’t ask, but why is the minor sad?  Feel lost.

pps.  la la la re I feel so sad today so lonely.

Messrs. Callan Coleman and Co., limited.

A warm human plumpness settled down on his brain.

• Lestrygonians

Agh! Watch out heart attack, pop more angina pills order a plate of Bratwurst, fried frankfurters,couple billion Wimpys', MacDonald burger to the moon & burp! Salt on those fries! Boil onions & breaded mushrooms even zucchini in deep hot Crisco pans Turkeys die only once, look nice, next to tall white glasses sugarmilk & icecream vanilla balls Strawberrry for sweeter color milkshakes with hot dogs Forget greenbeans, everyday a few carrots, a mini big spoonful of salty rice'll do, make the plate pretty1:40 pm

Funny the way she says things.  Wuz nc & all teh bfls wer out.  Saw one today with white stockings, dressing lingerie shop window.  Naked mannequins with sale signs, pinning on garters, flimsy silks.  All in red.  Thick feet she had.  Hope they get mucked by the rain.  Need to get a pincushion for Molly.  Might not like that though, throws away the black headed ones too.  Superstitions.  Get pricked by a pin and lose your lover.  Sleep with two pins crossed under your pillow.  Not sure why.  Sharp things cut lo.  Never hand a pin to somebody point first.  Nice red things they had there.  For Molly.  For women.   All for a woman.  Home and houses, the wealth of the world for them.  Molly.  Molly’s skin.  Must get her lotion.  Warm full perfumed.  Kissed, yielded, tangled, trembling breath.  For them.  For her.  Men.  Men, men, men.  See the animals feed.  Pungent meatjuice.  Swilling, wolfing gobfulls.  Bulging eyes.  Stink of manpiss and sweat.  Am I like that?  I can’t see myself like that.  Is that how others see me?  Watch me eat.  Ramming down knifefulls, sticky, masticating chewchawchew.  Spitting back the gristle.  Shoveling into my gullet.  Chump chop lick the plate.  Eat or be eaten and choke to death on a salmon bone, bite off more than I can chew, and kill!  Kill!  I hate dirty eaters.