Sly Uses

Squeezed up with the laughing

May 29th • Cyclops

Weeping shouldst not thou be when man falls but that divine scheming ever adoring be. So you be either man or mouse and you be neither fish nor flesh. 5:10 pm

I tell you I don’t think anything could have beat it for entertainment, I swear to Christ. You should have seen it. I still can’t stop laughing what with Breen running all over hell like a lunatic idiot in his slippers and his wife chasing after, and Doran drunk and blubbering about God and dead Dignam and Christ and one eyed Moses I’m still not sure he’s dead or they’re just busting my balls, and then the citizen wanting to crucify Bloom dancing around bizarre outside just give him a reason and he gave him one. Jesus H. Christ where do I start! My sides. Oh I can’t breathe. I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s just too funny. You had to be there. Give me a minute. I’ll tell you. Give me a minute. Where do I. Holy Christ. I’ll be needing another beer for this. So. So. Shit I can’t breathe. Breen. O hell! Breen wants to sue for lib. I can’t. Libel. He waited outside John Henry Menton’s empty office half the morning then went to Goulding’s to see if somebody there wouldn’t piss themselves laughing in his face. O God I can’t. It’s just too. And then. And then. Hoo. Ok. Ok. Let me drink this. Yeah. And then Tom Rochford sent him to Long John Fanning and holy Jesus you can imagine how that went! Whooo. Tears in my fucking eyes. I haven’t laughed this hard. And now he’s looking for a cop. What a dumb ass! Such a douche. And all because somebody sent him a postcard. God it’s beautiful. U.P.: Up! Can you just? I swear to God. People think I’d done it but damnit I wish I had. Beyond funny. There’s more. I’ll tell you the story but I. I. I gotta stop laughing first. Give me a minute.

Let her speak. Look straight in her eyes. I believe you. Trust me.

March 20th • Lestrygonians

Sons of the sun, mother of living creatures. Fiercely met and loved, with all the hypocrisy of longing: importation, exchange, and tourists. In the country of the big snake. 1:16 pm

Ran into Josie Powell today. Breen. Still beautiful eyes. Womaneyes. How are you, How’s Molly, Milly at a photographer’s, yours? Not sure how many. I didn’t ask. Sad to lose old friends she said when I told her about Dignam. Was once Molly’s closest and mine too, well that’s quite enough about that. Asked about her lunatic husband. Hard to get around to that. Just: quietly: husband? She answered by looking in her purse, chipped rattlesnake. He’s a caution to them she said. Women’s purses. Rummaging, wide open. Money, change, credit cards, used tissues, tampon, lipstick, lipstick, lipstick, phone charger, clean diaper, altoid that was: fell, receipts, hair clips, wrappers, take a number: D26, phone, checkbook, who carries those around anymore, medicine bottle, postcard. Up? U.P. U.P: up. Somebody taking a rise out of him. He went to oyster eyes Menton wearing slippers on his feet; sue for libel. Well he has kids, so there’s the proof of that particular pudding. If that’s what, I don’t know. Up? Meshuggah. The guy is nuts. Not as nuts as Cashel Boyle O’Connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell who swung past us on the outside of the lampposts. That rat fell into a brewer’s vat and never recovered. Can say the same for Josie Powell. Breen. Shabby, old clothes. Used to be a tasty dresser. Beautiful eyes that night at Luke Doyle’s. Only a year or so older than Molly. Lines around her mouth. Lunch on her shirt. Smells, maybe from her, of butter, flour, demerera sugar. A rhubarb tart with liberal fillings, rich fruit interior. I could still eat her up.

Beneath a reign of uncouth stars.

February 22nd • Proteus

11:46 am

[A slight whispering wind blows through the theatre and we hear the sound of an incoming tide. The veil of the temple rises revealing a circle of people lying on their backs staring up at the sky.]

Cassiopeia: [gazing at herself in a hand mirror] The stars are beautiful at this time of day, don’t you agree? Though not as beautiful as me of course.

Pan: Of course, baby. Now come over here and sit on my lap. My energies are rising.

Cassiopeia: None so beautiful as me.

Shadow: [rolling over, bending himself toward the rocks, turning his back to the sun] Darkly they are there behind this light. Darkness shining in the brightness.

Proteus: [in the shape of a long stick, curved at the end, no knots] We are here to look at birds people, not stars. Now pay attention before I change my mind, I’m getting tired. Did you hear that rook? That means it will soon rain.

Pan: This is Seattle, everything means it will soon rain. Look, a dog! It will soon rain. Look, a wave! It will soon rain. Please. So, Virgin, your hand is so gentle. Love the longlashed eyes, baby, want to trust me a little?

Cassiopeia: She, she, she. What is she to compare to me?

That Virgin: [pointing] That cloud looks like a book. See it up there? Oooh, now it looks like letters. U. P.

Pan: [visibly aroused] A lady of letters! I am lonely here, touch me.

Proteus: [in the form of our souls] Goodness! Look at that manshape ineluctable! I’ll sit on your lap. Cling to you a little, a woman to her lover.

Pan: [in his flutiest voice] The more the more!

Shadow: [flatly] Come back to us Proteus, I see shadows of birds on a white field.

Pan: [Flutier] Don’t listen Proteus, come, cling, then come. Now where the blue hell are you?

Proteus: [In the form of a mirror] That’s better. Feel a bit shamewounded. Now where were we. Oh yes. Those birds, Shadow, are magpies and there are one, two, seven of them. A secret. And my stars, look, an owl! And it is nearly noon, no wonder I am so tired. Let’s see, owl, a revelation at night. Also a bitter mystery. A mysterious secret will be revealed at night. Also, it will soon rain.

Cassiopeia: [rubbing lotions into her skin] Proteus, you’ve never looked so flat, yet in you I see distance. Near, far, east, me. Oh there I am. Me. Oh Proteus, you are so beautiful. Oh, I feel something! What is that word known to all men?

That Virgin: What is that word? I want to feel it too. Point over here Proteus, show me what Cassiopeia sees.

Proteus: [In the form of Berkeley] You see nothing. You think you see. Everything is flat, and you only think you see distances. Those stars unbeheld behind this light? Their distance is only an element of your idea of them.

Pan: [masturbating gently] I am lonely here. O, touch me soon, now. I am quiet here alone. Sad too. Touch, touch me.

Shadow: [in the form of my form] Not for all the word.