Chapter 3 third chapter

The inescapable form of the visible [1]: at least the visible, through my eyes.What I make out here are the markings of things[2], fertilized fish eggs and seaweed, the approaching tide, that rust-coloured boot.Snot green, blue silver, rust: colored marks [3].The limits of transparency.Yet, he added, in form.Then, he perceives the shape of things earlier than he perceives its color.How did you notice it? Bumped it with his head, sure.Take it easy.He rested his head and was a millionaire again.Mentor of the learned [4].where the limits of transparency.Why do you say it? Transparent, opaque.If you can stretch your fingers through it, it's a door, if you can't, it's a door.Close your eyes and see.

Stephen closed his eyes and listened to the sound of his boots on the seaweed and shells.You walk through it somehow.Yes, a big step every time.In a very short time, through a very small space.Five, Six: Continuously [5].Exactly so.This is the inescapable shape of the audible.open your eyes.No, alas! If I fall from the top of the steep cliff[6] that borders the sea, I will inevitably fall side by side[7] in space! I am quite comfortable in the dark.The ash wooden knife was worn at his waist.Touch the ground with it: that's what they do.My feet were in his boots, tied[8] to meet his calves.It sounds real, and it must be the sound of the gavel of the Master[9] Creator[10].Am I walking down the dunes[11] to eternity? Crack cheep, cheep, cheep.Wild currency of the sea.Mr. Deasy knew them all.

Come to the dunes, Mare Madeleine[12]? Lo and behold, the melody begins.I hear it.The rhythm is marching exactly in the iambic of the tetrameter.No.running.Madame Madame. Open your eyes now.I open.Wait a minute.After that, has everything disappeared? If I open my eyes, I will stay forever in the black opaque body.That's enough[13]! If I can see it, I'd like to see it. See, without you, it still exists forever, forever, and the world[14]. They came cautiously down the steps from Leahy's balcony--wives.The splayed feet sank into the deposited sand, and they walked limply down the sloping seashore.Like looking, like Alger, coming to our great mother.The first tossed her midwife's handbag heavily, and the other's big clumsy umbrella poked into the sand.They came from the free zone[16] and came out to relax.Mrs Florence McCabe, widow of the late Patrick McCabe, who was deeply mourned in Bride Street.It was one of her colleagues who delivered the baby to me who was crying.created out of nothing.What was in that handbag of hers? A premature baby with its umbilical cord dragging, she quietly wrapped it in red muddy wool.All umbilical cords are connected from generation to generation, and all living beings are twisted into a fleshy cable, so those esoteric monks are.Do you want to become like the gods? Then look carefully at your belly button[17].Hello, hello.I am Jin Chi.Please pick up Eden City.Aleph, Alpha [18], Zero, Zero, One.

Consort and companion of the first Adam, Heve[19], naked Eve.She has no belly button.Take a closer look.The bulging belly without a single mole is like a round belly covered with taut calfskin.No, it is a heap of white wheat[20], radiant and immortal, from eternity to eternity[21].womb of sin. I too was conceived in the darkness of sin, created, not begotten[22].It was the two men who did it, the man with my voice and my eyes, and the ghost woman whose breath smelled of wet ashes.They hugged tightly, separated again, and acted according to the wishes of the matchmaker.From the beginning of Pangu, God had the will for me to exist, and now I will not disappear, never will.The Eternal Law[23] coexists with God.So, is this the divine entity in which the Father and the Son are one body? Where is the poor Alima brother who tried to show his talents[24]? 25], and fight for it all my life.Doomed patriarch of heresy.In a Greek toilet, he breathed his last and was euthanized[26].Wearing a beaded diadem, holding a staff[27], he straddles his throne motionless; he is a widower, and the bishop's office is also a widow[28].The bishop's sash[29] is stiffly turned up, and the hips are all congealed.

The breeze surrounded him, the harsh wind[30] piercing the skin, and the waves came up.Like seahorses with white manes, grinding their teeth, and being bridled by the bright wind, the horses of Ma Nannan[31]. I don't forget his letter to the newspaper.And then? Go at half past twelve.Ship Notes". As for the money, save a little money and behave like a little fool. Yes, it must be so. His pace slowed.Arrived.Shall I go to Aunt Sara's? My father's one-body voice.Have you seen that artist brother Stephen lately? No? He must have gone to see his aunt Sally in Strasbourg's Gater Street? Couldn't he fly a little higher? And? And, and, and, Stephen, will you tell us about Uncle West? Oh, weeping God, I'm married to some one.The boys are in the hayloft.The alcoholic small-cost accountant and his cornet-playing brother.Honorable gondolier! And that cross-eyed Walter, who actually addresses his father as "Sir."gentlemen.Yes, sir.no sir.Jesus cried[35]: No wonder, Christ.

I rang the breathless doorbell in their shuttered hut and waited.They thought that the debt collector was coming, so they watched from a safe place[36]. "It's Stephen, sir." "Let him in. Let Stephen in." The deadbolt was released and Walter let me in. "We are still just others." A big bed, Uncle Rich leaned on the pillow, wrapped in a blanket, and stretched out his strong arms through the hill-like knees.The chest is clean.He washed his upper body. "Nephew, good morning[37]." He put the lapboard aside.He was drawing up a bill of costs to show Associate Judge Goff and Associate Judge Shaplan Tandy on the board, filling out warrants, inquiries, and notices to bring exhibits.On the top of his resting head hung a picture frame made of petrified black osmanthus.Wang Shuide's [38].He whistled that bewildering whistle, monotonous and low, and called Walter back.

"What is it, sir?" "Tell mother to bring ale to Richie and Stephen. Where is she?" "Give Chrissy a bath, sir." The little companion who sleeps with daddy, baby lump. "No, Uncle Rich..." "Just call me Rich. Damn Lithium Mineral Water. Debilitating. Oh [whiskey!" "Uncle Rich, really..." "Sit down, or I'll beat you down in the name of the devil." Walter squinted for a chair, but couldn't find it. "He has no place to sit, sir." "Hasn't he a place to put his ass, you fool. Bring over our Chippendale [39] chairs. Want something to eat? You don't have to put on airs here. Get something thick How about pan-fried herring ham? Really? That would be even better. We have nothing but back pain pills at home."

Be careful! He hummed a few bars of Ferrando's "entrance song" in a low, monotonous voice.Stephen, this is the grandest piece in the whole opera.listen. He whistled that harmonious whistle again, the tone was slow and elegant, with a lot of breath, and he raised his fists, beating his knees wrapped in blankets like a big drum. The wind is softer. Fallen House[41], mine, his, everyone's.You told the young masters of Clongows that one of your uncles was a judge, and the other a general.Stephen, don't do that again.Beauty is not there.Nor in the airy cubicle of the Marsh Library.There you read Abbot Joachim's faded book of prophecies.For whom? For the hundred-headed rabble in the cathedral yard.A kind-hater[44] deserted them into the forest of madness, with mane foaming under the moon and eyes like stars.Hu Yim with horse-like nostrils[45].Oval horse faces of Temple, Buck Mulligan, Fox Campbell, long chins.Father Abbess, furious archdeacon[47], what set them on fire in their heads? Bah! Come down, bald man, or you'll scalp[48].With a wreath of gray hair round his perilous head, I saw him crawl down to the foot of the altar (come down[49]!), with the Eucharist in his hand shining[ 50], eyes like a basilisk [51].Come down, bald gourd! These shaved, sanctified, castrated, fattened on the best wheat[52], living on God, clumsily move the burly man in the white linen robe body, exhaling Latin from his breath.The choir assisting at the corners of the altar responded with menacing echoes.

At the same instant, a priest around the corner may be holding the Eucharist.Dinglingling[53]! Two blocks away, the other put it back in the tabernacle and locked it.Dinglingling! In the chapel of Our Lady, another priest is swallowing all the Holy Communion.Lingling! Kneel down, stand up, move forward, step back.The excellent Ph.D. Dan Occam[54] once thought of this.One foggy morning in England, the little elf of Christ's personality was scratching his head.He dropped the Eucharist and knelt down.When he got up to hear the second ringing of his own bell and the first ringing of the bell in the transept (he was lifting the Eucharist), he heard (now I was lifting the Holy Communion) the sound of both bells. The sound (he kneels) overlaps into diphthongs.

Cousin Stephen, you will never be a saint.This is the island of the saints[55].You used to be very religious, didn't you? You prayed to the Virgin Mary and begged her not to turn your nose red.You prayed to the devil on snakeroot avenue[56] that the pudgy widow up ahead would lift her hem higher as she walked by the puddle.Ah, is it not[57]! Sell your soul for those dyed proglotts pinned to women's waists.Be sure to do this.Tell me more, tell me more! When you were sitting on the top seat of the Howth tram, shouting to the rain all alone: ​​Naked woman! Naked woman! What's that, uh ?

So what? Isn’t that what women were created for? Read two pages from each of the seven books every night, eh? I was young.You bow to yourself in the mirror, your face beaming, and you walk forward solemnly, as if to be applauded.A complete fool, hooray! hooray! Nobody saw it, and told no one.You're going to write a batch of books under alphabetical titles.Have you read his F? Oh yes, but I like the Q better.Yes, but W is wonderful.Ah, yes, W.Remember that esoteric epiphany [59] you wrote in the Oval Green Pages? Profound and profound.If you die, the manuscripts will be sent to all the great libraries in the world, including Alexandria.Thousands of years later, billions of years later, there will still be people who read it, just like Eraser de la Mirandola [60].Yes, very much like a whale[61].When one reads the wondrous pages of one who is long gone, one feels one with it, the one who was... The coarse sand had disappeared from under his feet.His boots were back on the wet mast that had creaked and split, and on razor clams, rattling pebbles, countless pebbles pounded by the tide[62], and gnats full of shipworms. Hollow timber, rout of the Armada[63].Puddles of dirty mud and sand were waiting to suck the soles of his stepping boots, and the rancid smell of sewage rose up one after another. [A clump of seaweed smoldering under a dead man's ashes[64]. ] He made a cautious detour.A standing bottle of stout was half buried in sand as solid as kneaded dough.A sentry post on the Isle of Thirst.On the shore, broken hoops; on land, a maze of cunning black netting; beyond that, some back doors scribbled with chalk, and high on the shore, someone pulled up a clothesline, on which two living statues hung to dry. It's the shirt that was crucified.Linsend[65] those tanned helmsman's and bosun's shacks.Human carapace. He stopped.I've come to the side of the road leading to Aunt Sarah's house.Am I not going there? It seems not.There was no one around.He turned northeast, across harder sand, toward the dovecote. "Who brought you to this state?" "Because of the dove, Joseph."[67] Patrick, home for the holidays, warms milk with me at McMahon's Bar.Son of "Wild Goose"[68] Kevin Egan[69] of Paris.My Lao Tzu is a bird [70].He licks sweet hot milk with his delicate pink tongue[71], with a fat bunny face.Lick it, rabbit[72].He is eager to hit the jackpot[73].Regarding the nature of women, he said he had read Michelet.But he insisted on sending me the "Life of Jesus" by Mr. Leo Taxil.Lent it to a friend of his. "It's funny, you know. I'm a socialist. I don't believe in God. Don't tell my father." "Does he believe it?" "Father, Thaksin [76]." Enough is enough[77].Where is he licking. My Latin Quarter hat.Gosh, we gotta dress up like characters.I need a pair of dark brown gloves.You were a student, weren't you? What department did you go to? Pishion. P.C.N. [78], You know: Physics, Chemistry and Biology [79].Hey.To huddle with the hiccupping cabbies and eat cheap beef lung stew[80], Egyptian meat pot[81].To put it in the most natural way: When I lived in the Rue Saint-Michel[82] in Paris, I used to.Yes, I often carry cut tickets with me.If you are caught as a murder suspect somewhere, you can use it to prove your alibi.Justice is sacred.On the night of February 17, 1904, the defendant was seen by two witnesses.Someone else did it, another me.Hat, tie, coat, nose.I am him[83].You seem to be enjoying yourself. swagger.Who are you trying to walk like? Forget it, poor man.With your mother's eight shilling money order in hand, the post office clerk slammed the door on you with a bang.Toothache from hunger.It's still two minutes away[84].Look at the clock.Must take.Closed [85].Hired dog! Give him a few rounds with the shotgun and beat him to pieces. Human flesh splatters all over the walls and brass buttons.Fragments all over the wall snapped and snapped back into place.No injury? Well, that's good.Shake hands.See what I mean, get it? Oh, that's good.Give it a shake.Oh everything is fine. You were going to do something amazing, didn't you? Go on a mission in Europe after the fiery Columban.Fiak87 and Scotus88 sat on the needle-felt three-legged stools of heaven,89 wine was spilled from pint jugs, and Lang Lang uttered a laughter.Brilliant! Brilliant! You pretend you speak bad English, and walk along the muddy quays of New Haven, with your suitcase, to save threepenny for a porter.How[91]? You brought back rich booty; Tutus[92], five battered issues of White Trousers and Red Shorts[93], a French telegram in blue enough to show off Some treasures: Mother is critically ill and returns to father Aunt thinks your mother died at your hands, so she won't let...[94] Cheers to Mulligan's aunt! Let me tell you why. Thanks to her, the Hannigans, Follow the rules. [95] He suddenly beat his feet triumphantly, crossed the sand ridge, and walked along the pebble-built breakwater to the south.He gazed complacently at the mammoth skull-like pile of stone.Gold shines on the ocean, on the sand, on the pebbles.There the sun is, the thin trees, the lemon houses. Paris is just waking up, naked sunlight casting its lemon-colored streets.The moist core of oat-flour bread, the frog-green absinthe, her morning fragrance court the air.The handsome man [96] got up from his wife's wife's wife's bed, and the turbaned housewife bustled around with a saucer of acetic acid.In Rod's shop, Yvany and Madeleine are chewing shortbread[97] with their gold teeth, their mouths are yellowed by the gravy[99] of a Breton cake[98], and their makeup is messed up, and they are redressing .The faces of Parisian men passed by, their favourites, curly-haired conquerors [100] with great ease. Take a nap at noon.Kevin Egan rolled black powder tobacco with ink-stained fingers and sipped his Green Goblin, Patrice the white.[101]All around us, gourmets send forkfuls of spiced beans down the gullet.Have a small cup of coffee[102]! The steam of the coffee is pouring from the large polished pot.As soon as he greeted, she came to wait on me.He is Irish.Dutch? Not cheese.Two Irishmen, we, Ireland, do you understand? Ah, yes[103]! She thought you were going to order a Dutch[104] cheese.It’s [105] after your meal.Do you know the word? After dinner.Back in Barcelona, ​​I knew a weird guy who used to call this after dinner.Yes, boogey[106]! Around the slate-topped tables, the smell of wine and the gurgling of throats mingled.His breath hangs over our Worcestershire sauce-smeared plates.The green goblin's fangs bared from his lips.Of Ireland, the Dalcasians[107], of Hope, Intrigue, and the present Arthur Griffiths[108][and A.E.[109], Pymandel, the Good Shepherd of Man[ 110]).To get me in too, to be his yoked friend, to talk about our sins and our common cause.You are worthy of being your father's son.I knew it when I heard the sound.He wore a denim shirt with large blood-red flowers, Spanish tassels fluttering whenever he confided.Mr. Drummond, the famous journalist Drummond, do you know what he called Queen Victoria? An ugly woman with a yellow mouth.A dominatrix[113] with yellow teeth[112].Maud Gannet[114], Pretty Woman; The Fatherland[115], Mister Millivoy[116]; Felix Faure[117], do you know how he died? A gang of lechers only.Bathhouse in Uppsala[118].An unmarried woman[119], a maid[120] massages a naked man.I do this with all gentlemen, she said[121].I said, this gentleman[122] can be excused.This is the most obscene custom.Taking a shower is the last thing to be seen.Not even my brother, not even my own brother, can let him see it.So obscene.Green eyes[123], I see you.Fangs[124], I feel it.A bunch of lechers. The blue fuse was burning hotly between the two hands, and the flame was translucent.The loose tobacco was lit: flames and choking smoke illuminated our corner.Under the Xiaodang[125] hat, the rough cheekbones of his face are exposed.How did the core leadership [126] escape? There is a reliable theory.Masquerading as a young bride, you, yarn, orange blossoms, drive along the road to Urahide[127].it's true.The defeated leaders[128], the betrayed, fled desperately.Pretending, in a hurry, running away, not here. Lover who has been neglected, I am displeased with you, I was a tall and strong young man back then, someday I will show you the photo.Indeed it is.As a lover, and in love with her, he slid down the great walls of Clerkenwell, with Colonel Richard Burke, successor of the Patriarch,[129].While crouching there, the vengeful fire blasted the wall into the mist.Glass shattered and masonry collapsed.He hides in the feasting Paris.Egan in Paris, nobody comes to see him but me.His daily lodgings are the dirty type box, the three taverns he frequents, and Montmartre's lair for a little sleep, which is on the Rue de Gin, with flies on his face Shit's portraits of the dead are adorned.No love, no country, no wife.She, too, was perfectly at ease without the deported man around.The landlady on Rue Sacred Heart had a canary, and two male lodgers, with peach-colored cheeks and striped skirts, who danced around like young girls.Despite being kicked out, he doesn't despair.Tell Pat[133] you saw me, okay? I was trying to get poor Pat a job.My son[134], make him a French soldier.I taught him to sing "Boys of Kilkenny, every robust rascal."Can you sing the old ballad? I taught Patrice.Old Kilkenny, St. Carnicker's, the castle of Strongbow on the Knoll.sing like this.oh oh.Napper Tandy[136] took my hand. oh oh kilkenny's boy... A thin, weak hand was placed on mine.They had forgotten Kevin Egan, but he hadn't forgotten them.thought of you.O Zion[137]. As he approached the beach, his boots creaked in the wet sand.The fresh air plucked at the chords of rough nerves to meet him.Seeds of light sown by wild winds.Now, am I heading towards Kish's lightship? He stopped abruptly, his feet sinking into the soft sand.Go back. He walked back, looked at the south bank, and slowly stepped his feet into the new pit.The cold, vaulted room in the tower awaited him.The two beams of sunlight coming in from the battlement are constantly moving, as slow as my sinking feet, crawling along the sundial-like flagstones towards dusk.Night fell, blue twilight, blue night, and they waited under the dark vault, their chairs pushed back and my obelisk suitcase around the disheveled table.Who will clean it? He has the key.I'm not going to sleep there after dark tonight.A closed door of the Tower of Silence, where their blind flesh is buried.Master Black Panther and his Hound[139].Called, no answer.He lifted his feet from the sandpit and paced back along the pebble breakwater[140].Take it all, and you all stay.My soul goes with me, form of form.So, on moonlit nights, in my sable coat bathed in silver light, I walked along the path on the crag, and listened to the seductive sound of Elsinore's tide[141]. The rising tide followed me.I can see it flow past from here.Turn back, then, to the beach yonder along the Purbeck road.He stepped through deerweed and eel-slippery seaweed, sat on a stool-shaped rock, and propped his ash walking stick in the crevice. A bulging dog carcass was lying on the bladderwort with its limbs drooping.In front are the upper rafters of the ship's side, and the hull has been buried in the sand.Louis Viiot called Gautier's prose a stagecoach buried in the sand[142].This heavy sand is a language accumulated here by tide and wind.It was a stone wall built by the late architect, and it became a hiding place for weasels.Bury gold there.Might as well give it a try.Don't you have some.sand and stones.Fallen heavily by the years.A toy of Sir Lauter the Giant.Be careful not to scratch each ear.I'm a bloody giant, and I roll those bloody giant boulders all over to make my stepping stones.Say, say.I smell Irish blood. A small dot, a living dog came into view, grew bigger and bigger, and ran over from the other side of the beach.Oh! Is it going to attack me? Respect its freedom.You will not be the master or slave of others.I have this cane.Sit still.From far away, two figures are walking towards the beach with the foaming tide on their backs.Two female aborigines [144].They hid it safely among the cattails.play hide and seek.I saw you guys.No, it's a dog.It was running back towards them.who's that? The galleons of the people of the lake have sailed to this shore in search of plunder.[145]Their blood-red beaks lay low in the melted pewter breakers.In the days of Malachi's golden collar[146].Danish pirates always had golden tomahawk-shaped collars shining on their chests.In the hot noon, a group of smooth-skinned whales were trapped in the shallows, spraying water and rolling all over the ground.So, short men in tight leather waistcoats, my kindred rushed out of the hungry cage-like city in droves.With skinning knives in hand, they ran, climbed, and chopped the whale meat full of fat green fat.Famine, plague and massacres.Their blood runs in my veins, their passions stir in me.On the frozen Liffey I moved among them[147].I, a man of inconsistencies, are illuminated by torches crackling with turpentine.I never spoke to anyone, and no one spoke to me.The dog barked and ran towards him, stopped, and ran back.The dog of my enemy.I was pale and just stood there, silent and let it bark.How dreadful are your deeds[148].The servant of fate[149] in the pale yellow heart, saw my fear and smiled.Is their barking applause all you long for? Usurpers, let them live.Bruce's brother[150]; Thomas Fitzgerald, the silk knight[151]; Perkin Warbeck[152], pseudo-heir of the House of York, short-lived in white rose-patterned ivory silk breeches; and Lambert Simnel[153] the crowned gallerist, whose retinue is a company of maids and catering vendors.All are the sons of the king.Since ancient times, this place has been a paradise for tyrants.He[154] rescued drowning men, and you tremble at the sound of a stray dog ​​barking.Yet the courtiers who had laughed at Guido from St. Michael's Basilica were in their old home. ...'s hometown [155].We don't care at all about your medieval pretentious critique.What he did, can you do it? Suppose there's a boat nearby.Of course[156], there will also be a life buoy for you.Will you do it? Nine days ago a man was drowned on Maiden Rock.They were waiting for the body to come up.Let's be honest, I want to do it.I want to give it a try.I'm not good at fushui.The water is cold and soft.When I put my face in a basin of Mercury at Klongows, I couldn't see anything.Who's behind me? Come up, come up! Don't you see the tide rushing up from all sides? It turns the shallows into an ocean the color of coconut shells in an instant.As long as my feet can touch the ground, I want to save his life, but also my own.A man about to drown.His eyes cried out to me from the terror of death.I... went down with him... I couldn't save her[157].Water, painful death; vanished. A woman and a man.I see her dress.It must have been fastened with a brooch. Their dogs wandered, trotting, sniffing, across the tidal narrowing sandbar.It is looking for something lost in the previous life.It darted past like a bounding hare, its ears thrown back, chasing the shadow of the low-passing gull.The man's thin whistle reached its soft ears.It turned around and jumped back, moved closer, and trotted over with its calf flashing.A stag, antlerless, graceful, and light-footed, scurrying about in a tawny field.It came to a halt on the lace-like edge of the water, its forelegs stiffened, its ears cocked towards the sea.It raised the tip of its nose and barked at the sound of the waves like a group of walruses.The wave rolls towards its feet, bursting into many crests, and every ninth, the crest breaks and splashes in all directions.From afar, and from still further, the waves behind push the waves ahead. Picking up sea fan shells.They waded for a while, stooped to dip their sacks in the water, picked them up again, and waded ashore.The dog ran towards them barking, stood on its hind legs and scratched them with its front paws.Crouching down again, standing upright on its hind limbs, it made fun of them silently like a bear.The dog, though ignoring it, clung to them as they walked toward the drier sandbank, panting and sticking its red, wolflike tongue between its jaws.Its mottled body paced ahead of them, then scurried away like a calf.The corpse blocked its way.It stopped, sniffed for a while, then circled lightly; my brother, brought his nose closer, circled again, and sniffed with dog-like agility all over the muddy mess of a dead dog. fur.Dog skull.The dog's sense of smell, its eyes looking down on the ground, moved towards a huge target.Oh, poor dog! Poor dog's body lies here. "Damn it! Let it go, you bastard!" With this yell, the dog timidly returned to its master, and was kicked violently by the bootless foot. Although it was not hurt, it fled tiredly to the other side of the beach.It made a detour and came back.The dog didn't look at me. It just jumped up and down along the edge of the breakwater, dawdled, sniffed the rocks all the way, and sometimes raised a hind leg to urinate on the rock.It trotted forward again, raised its hind legs again, and drizzled a few drops of piss on an unsmelled rock.What a mere amusement of the lowly.Then, it scooped up the sand with its hind paws, and then used its front paws to plan the hole, splashing the sand.What did he bury there, his grandma.It dug the tip of its nose into the sand, planed, splashed, and stopped to look at the sky to listen, and then desperately scraped up the sand with its claws.After a while it stopped, a leopard, a black leopard, wild bastards, looting dead bodies. Did he have the same dream after he woke me up last night?wait a minute.The hall is open.Whore Street [158].recall.Harun Rashid [159].I roughly remembered it.The man led the way for me and spoke to me.I wasn't afraid.He handed me the melon in his hand.Smile: aromas of pale yellow flesh.That's the rule, he said.Come in, come on.There is a red carpet.Take your pick. The red-faced Egyptian [160] staggered around with his sack on his shoulder.The man rolled up his trouser legs, his blue feet clattered on the cold and sticky sand, and a gray brick-colored scarf hung around his unshaven neck.She followed with a woman's footsteps, the villain and the concubine who was in the rivers and lakes.She slung what she had scooped up on her back.Her bare feet were covered with a layer of loose sand and shell fragments.His face was chapped by the wind, and his hair was loose.Follow husband as spouse, head towards Romeville [161].When the night covered her physical imperfections, she wore a brown shawl and yelled along the dog-poo-stained archway.Her pimp was entertaining two Dublin Guardsmen at O'Laughlin's Tavern in the Black Pit.Kiss her and speak quack dialect, hold her in your arms.Oh, my amorous pretty girl! Beneath her sour and tattered dress is the fair skin of a witch.That night there was a smell from the tannery in the alley at Van Barry. hands white and red lips, Your body is so delicate. sleep with me Embrace and kiss in the night. [162] Aquinas of the beer-keg belly calls this a gloomy pleasure[163].Brother Porcupine [164].Before the slip, Adam straddled it, but he was not emotional.Let him say: your body is so delicate.These words are no less than his.Monks talk, the rosary chattering on their girdles; quack talk, hard gold coins clattering in their pockets. Going by right now. They cast a sideways glance at my hamlet.What if I'm sitting here and suddenly I'm naked? I'm not.Across all the sands of the world, the flaming sword of the sun followed, moving west, toward the lands of twilight.[165]She trudges, schlepps, trains, drags, trascines[166] loads.The tides are dragged by the moon, with Backed west behind her.Inside her body flowed a tide containing thousands of islands.This blood is not mine, the grape-purple sea[167], the dark sea of ​​grape-purple.Behold the handmaid of the moon.In her sleep, Yuechao told her the time and told her that it was time to get up.The bed of the bride, the bed of childbirth, the bed of death lit with talismanic candles.All flesh and blood will come and surrender [168].Here he comes, pale vampire.His eyes through the storm, his bat-like sails, the blood-stained sea, kissed her mouth to mouth[169]. Here, jot it down, will you? My blotter[170].Kiss her mouth to mouth.No.It must be the mouth of two people.Glue the two sides together firmly.Kiss her mouth to mouth. His moving lips kissed the lips of fleshless air: the mouth was against the opening of her womb.The uterus, the tomb that breeds the masses [171].His protruding lips breathed out, but he was silent.哦嗬嗬，瀑布般的行星群的怒吼。作球状，喷着火焰，边吼边移向远方远方远方远方远方。纸。是纸币，见鬼去吧。老迪希的信。在这儿哪。感谢你的隆情厚谊，把空白的这头撕掉吧。他背对着太阳，屈下身去在一块岩石的桌子上胡乱写着。我已经是第二次忘记从图书馆的柜台上拿些便条纸了。 他弯下腰去，遮住岩石的身影就剩下一小截了。为什么不漫无止境地延伸到最远的星宿那儿去呢?星群黑魆魆地隐在这道光的后面，黑暗在光中照耀[172]，三角形的仙后座[173]，穹苍。我坐在那儿，手执占卜师的梣木杖，脚登借来的便鞋。白天我呆在铅色的海洋之滨，没有人看得见我;到了紫罗兰色的夜晚，就徜徉在粗犷星宿的统驭下。我投射出这有限的身影，逃脱不了的人形影子，又把它召唤回来。倘若它漫无止境地延伸，那还会是我的身影，我的形态的形态吗？谁在这儿守望着我呢?什么人在什么地方会读到我写下的这些话?白地上的记号。在某处，对某人，音色宛若用长笛吹奏出来的。克洛因的主教[174] 大人从他那顶宽边铲形帽里掏出圣堂的幔帐：空间的幔帐，上面有着彩色的纹章图案。使劲拽住。在平面上着了色，是的，就是这样。我看看平面，然后设想它的距离，是远还是近。我看看平面，东方，后面。啊，现在看吧!幕突然落下来了，幻象冻结在实体镜上。戏法咔嗒一声就要完了。你觉得我的话隐晦。你不认为我们的灵魂里有着含糊不清的东西吗?像长笛吹出的优美音色。我们的灵魂被我们的罪孽所玷污，越发依附我们，正如女人拥抱情人一般，越抱越紧。 她信任我，她的手绵软柔和，眼睛有着长长的睫毛。而今我真不像话，究竟要把她带到幕幔那边的什么地方去呢?进入无可避免的视觉认知那无可避免的形态里。她，她，她。怎样的她?就是那个黄花姑娘，星期一她在霍奇斯·菲吉斯书店的橱窗里寻找你将要写的一本以字母为标题的书。你用敏锐的目光朝她瞥了一眼。她的手腕套在阳伞上那编织成的饰环里。她是一位爱好文学的姑娘，住在利逊公园，心情忧郁，是个有些轻浮的姐儿。跟旁人谈这去吧，斯蒂维，找个野鸡什么的[175]。但是她准穿着那讨厌的缀有吊袜带的紧身褡和用粗糙的羊毛线织成的浅黄长袜。跟她谈谈苹果布丁的事例更好一些[176]。你的才智到哪儿去啦? 抚摩我，温柔的眼睛。温柔的、温柔的、温柔的手。我在这儿很寂寞。what.抚摩我，现在马上就摸。大家都晓得的那个字眼儿是什么来看[177]?我在这儿完全是孤零零的，而且悲哀。抚摩我，抚摩我吧。 他直着身子仰卧在巉岩上，把匆忙中写的便条和铅笔塞进兜里，将帽子拉歪，遮上眼睛。伊然是凯文·伊根打磕睡时的动作，安息日的睡眠。天主看他所创造的一切都非常好[178]。喂!日安[179]!欢迎你如五月花[180]。从帽檐底下，他隔着孔雀毛一般颤悠的睫毛眺望那向南移动的太阳。我被这炽热的景物迷住了。潘[181]的时刻，牧神的午后[182]。在饱含树脂的蔓草和滴着乳汁的果实间，在宽宽地浮着黄褐色叶子的水面上。痛苦离得很远。 不要再扭过脸儿去忧虑。 他的视线落在宽头长统靴上，一个花花公子[183]丢弃的旧物，并列着[184]。他数着皮面上的皱纹，这曾经是另一个人暖脚的窝。那脚曾在地上路着拍子跳过庄严的祭神舞[185]，我讨厌那双脚。然而，当埃丝特·奥斯瓦特的鞋刚好合你的脚时，你可高兴啦。她是我在巴黎结识的一位姑娘。哎呀，多么小的一双脚[186]!忠实可靠的朋友，贴心的知己，王尔德那不敢讲明的爱[187]。他的胳膊，克兰利的胳膊。而今他要离我而去。该归咎于谁?我行我素。我行我素。要么得到一切，要么一无所有[188]。 像是倒一根长套索似的，水从满满当当的科克湖[189]里溢了出来，将发绿的金色沙滩淹没，越涨越高，滔滔滚滚流去。我这根梣木手杖也会给冲走的。且等一等吧。不要紧的，潮水会淌过去的，冲刷着低矮的岩石;淌过去，打着漩涡，淌过去。最好赶紧把这档子事干完。听吧，四个宇组成的浪语，嘶——嗬——嘘——噢。波涛在海蛇、腾立的马群和岩石之间剧列地喘着气。它在岩石凹陷处迸溅着：唏哩哗啦，就像是桶里翻腾的酒。随后精力耗尽，不再喧嚣。它潺潺涓涓，荡荡漾漾，波纹展向四周，冒着泡沫，有如花蕾绽瓣。 在惊涛骇浪的海潮底下，他看到扭滚着的海藻正懒洋洋地伸直开来，勉强地摇摆着胳膊，裙裾撩得高又高[190]，在窃窃私语的水里摇曳并翻转着羞怯的银叶。它就这样日日夜夜地被举起来，浮在海潮上，接着又沉下去。天哪，她们疲倦了。低声跟她们搭话，她们便叹息。圣安布罗斯[191]听见了叶子与波浪的叹息，就伫候着，等待时机成熟。它忍受着伤害，日夜痛苦呻吟[192]。漫无目的地凑在一起;然后又徒然地散开，淌出去，又流回来。月亮朦朦胧胧地升起，裸妇在自己的宫殿里发出光辉，情侣和好色的男人她都看腻了，就拽起海潮的网。 那一带有五噚深。你的父亲躺在五噚深处。他说是一点钟[193]。待发现时已成为一具溺尸。都柏林沙洲涨了潮。尸体向前推着轻飘飘的碎石，作扇状的鱼群和愚蠢的贝壳。自得像盐一样的尸体从退浪底下浮上来，又一拱一拱的，像海豚似地漂向岸去。right there.快点儿把它勾住。往上拽。虽然它已沉下水去，还是捞着了。现在省手啦。 尸体泡在污浊的咸水里，成了瓦斯袋。这般松软的美味可喂肥了大群鲦鱼。它们嗖嗖地穿梭于尸首中那扣好钮扣的裤档隙缝间。天主变成人，人变成鱼，鱼变成黑雁，黑雁又变成堆积如山的羽绒褥垫[194]。活人吸着死者呼出来的气，踏着死者的遗骸，贪婪地吃着一切死者那尿骚味的内脏。隔着船帮硬被拽上来的尸首，散发出绿色坟墓似的恶臭。他那患麻风病般的鼻孔朝太阳喷着气。 这是海水的变幻[195]，褐色眼睛呈盐灰色。溺死在海里，这是亘古以来最安详的死。啊，海洋老爹。巴黎奖[196]。谨防假冒。你不妨试试看。灵验得很哪。 喏，我口渴[197]。云层密布[198]。哪儿也没有乌云，有吗?雷雨。我说，永不沉落的晓星[199]。傲慢的智慧之闪电，被火焰包围着坠落[200]。No.我那顶用海扇壳装饰的帽子、手杖和既是他的也是我的草鞋[201]。踱向何方?踱向黄昏的国土。黄昏即将降临。 他攥住梣木手杖的柄，轻轻地戳着，继续磨磨蹭蹭。是啊，黄昏即将降临到我内心和外部世界。每一天都必有个终结。说起来，下星期二是白昼最长的一天[202]。在快活的新年中，妈妈[203]，啷，嘡，啼嘚嘀，嘡。草地·丁尼生[204]，绅士派头的诗人。有着黄板牙的丑婆子[205]。可不是嘛[206]。还有德鲁蒙[207]先生，绅士派头的记者。可不是嘛[208]。我的牙糟透了。我纳闷，怎么回事呢?摸了摸。这一颗也快脱落了。只剩了空壳。我不晓得要不要用那笔钱去看牙医？那一颗，还有这一颗。没有牙齿的金赤是个超人[209]。为什么这么说呢?或许有所指吧？ 我记得，他把我那块手绢丢下了。我捡起它来了没有? 他徒然地在兜里掏了一番。不，我没有捡。不如再去买一块。 他把从鼻孔里抠出来的干鼻屎小心翼翼地放在岩角上。变成功了请喝彩[210]。 后面，兴许有人哩。 他回过头去，隔着肩膀朝后望:一艘三桅船[211]上那高高的桅杆正在半空中移动着。这艘静寂的船，将帆收拢在桅顶横桁上，静静地道潮驶回港口。