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tempest-loupnoir · 5 years

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Since I love reaction posts and I enjoyed writing one for the Ducktales season one finale, I thought I would torture myself by taking the time to write one again for what might possibly be my favorite episode of the series. This way I can go back and relive the magic while waiting for the hiatus to end and the next chapter to begin.

First thought when I opened the app: love the preview image on the app banner with the security guard spraying DW.

Pile of bombs! Must equal Nega- Nope. Who’s that dude? Reminds me of the security guard in the Tuskernini episode when Tuskernini had a beard. Flim Flam?

Love that iconic bat cocoon pose. Keep it up, DW.

DW stepping on each bomb is so ridiculous yet so him. I wonder if the show props hurt?

OMG! I did not expect Darkwing’s face under that mask!! My reaction matched DW’s

OMG! Who’s the new dude?! Is that Drake? With a new voice actor? WHAT?! Or is he a creepy dude who had his face and body shaped to look like Jim’s?

Jim’s glasses are cool

LOL! Splat. Poor LP. Such a dork. Thanks for having his back, Dewey. I wonder what Jim thinks about this fan who’s never made it to his autograph table? If he even noticed... Poor Lp.

Nice recoloring of the title card. Was that just my eyes or was that someone on the letter in a Darkwing costume. Disney Now app, please let me rewind some day. But not today. On with the show!

This new guy has such a sweet expression. I hope he’s not going to be a villain like Buddy in “The Incredibles.”

Okay Jim has noticed LP before. And he was cute with Dewey but rude to poor LP and new dude. (I really want to call him Drake.)

Jim made LP drive him? Lol Why am I not surprised. And eww, sweat stains.

Dewey’s butt bouncing in the his seat was cute.

Eww. Really, Jim? “Sniff sniff. Musky.” Is that a throwback to “The Secret Origins of Darkwing Duck” when the monk pulled the baby out of the space ship and said “and we shall call him... (sniff sniff)...stinky.”

Good questions, Dewey. The plot thickens.

“A psychological examination of man’s inhumanity to man”, hmm? Are you going to be our next new villain, Alistair? (Note, I have never heard of the person he is based on and know nothing about his movies so I am a total newbie. Looking forward to learning more!)

Scrooge built the company to make cheap office safety videos? Wouldn’t a light projector and slides be cheaper, Scrooge?

Never say “dare” to Scrooge McDuck, regardless of context.

Lol Scrooge likes mustachioed villains. Cute little quirk.

Dewey flipping out about the studio and calming down after Scrooge’s response shows some growth in his character and Scrooge proved that he’s getting to know all of the kids in the “Nothing Can Stop Della Duck” episode. Nice little character touches.

DW crawling in on his stomach. Lol

Hidden Mickey! Mickey award on the shelf!

WHAT. Alistair’s film is the birth of Negaduck?! And that dog guy: was that Hooter or was that Commissioner Gordon from Batman?

LP’s reaction is pretty much on cue with mine, but I’m intrigued. I’d watch it.

Surprised Jim liked the film.

Dewey wants a role in the film. Lol. Not surprised.

Nice, Scrooge. Calling Dewey the most childish child you know.

I was not expecting him to put Dewey in charge though.

Hey new dude. So you’re future Negaduck? Or are you future Darkwing? So many questions...

Jim reacted as I expected. Lol Fwoosh. Ouch. Snap crackle pop. Poor Jim.

Love the music before Jim jumped on the car

LP came up with seven questions much faster than I expected.

Darkwing’s kitty hop after the bush was taken away. Lol

Hi Tad Stones. :D Lol

A little heavy handed with the fire retardant, weren’t you?

The water cooler sign reminds me of Liquidator, naturally.

LP’s stealth actions were actually pretty good, even though they were a bit loud and clumsy at times.

Love all the posters and toys in the trailer.

New dude’s switch from friendliness to outright attack mode is interesting.

Oops. Splash. XD Nice toilet paper shot.

Omg the battle scenes. They’re too cute, avoiding smashing the nostalgia! And battle hat action figure. Lol. Nice nod to the original action figure with its hat popping action.

Annnd of course LP blinded himself.

But who is that punk-looking action figure? My first thought was Powerline but could that be a new, dogified Morgana? Or a new villain? Curiouser and curiouser!

Megavolt has a mustache in this version, Dewey? Or were you planning on making him wear one? Lol I can just picture the original Megavolt’s reaction to that.

Uhh why are you threatening your rare action figure with an iron, New Dude? Are you and LP playing with the figures together? Also that answers my unspoken question about why an iron was on the vanity. I assumed it was for pressing capes but I guess the new guy would not need to iron his own capes.

Still haven’t answered my question on who the new action figure is but apparently it has something to do with...90’s neon fashion?

The lunchbox has a face imprint on it.

New Dude has a similar back story to Drake. Interesting. Does this mean Jim is going to be Negaduck or Darkwarrior?

Baby Darkwing!! Awwwww!! So cute! I love the style those comics were drawn in!! Who drew them? Silvani? I must know!

Also the bully looks a lot like baby Herb Muddlefoot in “You Sweat Your Life.” Coincidence or new plot device? Maybe that’s the new Hamm?

Drake wanting to inspire another kid like him... Awww. Wait, I don’t know for sure that his name is Drake yet. I need a name for you soon!

“You are a true fan. We can save this movie!” Nice, LP. :) I do think it’s the fan input that made the comics and now this show as good as they are. The comics that did not have input from show creators or fans were glaringly obvious, buuut that’s a dead horse I’m not going to linger over.

LOL! “I don’t know. He kind of wants to make me not alive any more.” What a cute way of describing a horrifying moment in your life, Buddy. You’re so likable and adaptable. I will be surprised if you’re not the one who is going to end up with Gosalyn and become the new modern real life Darkwing? But I will be sad if Jim Starling/Jim Cummings/original Darkwing does not get a redeeming moment... He’s spent so much time feeling like a hasbeen and he’s just been replaced in the franchise he’s centered his life on. He’s having a really bad day. Give him a break, please, Ducktales? Don’t break my heart, please...?

Aww. Jim still has the moves, and cape awareness. I’m rooting for both Darkwings. I hope they can compromise and work it out so they can both be in the movie together. Like Indiana Jones and his son in “The Crystal Skull” movie. Indy was still Indy and the kid was shaping up to be like Indy. Old Darkwing could reform his protégé in the new movie and they can both work together as heroes. That’d be a cool finale.

“Idiot in the purple cape”? Harsh.

Dewey’s dance crew. What is up with your obsession with dance numbers, Dewey? They’re kind of annoying for someone like me with Audio Processing Delay. And man those are high boots... My first thought was that they were the Darkwing Squad, like the SHUSH agents training to be like Darkwing in the Darkwing Squad episode. (Forgot the name of it.)

And there’s proof that Jim might have actually done some crimefighting in real life. He took out those security guards so quickly and easily! An actor trained to pull his punches might not know where or how hard to strike.

Huh. Their beaks are different colors.

“Your heart is in my lunchbox.” What? Lol

Oops. Sorry, security guard. Darkwing Duck just broke your wrist in the door. Ouch.

Oooh Jim’s voice got so creepy there. “Yes, I will.” Jim’s still one of my favorite voice actors ever. I can see what Jim S. is thinking there. Evil plot commencing. Annnd there’s an ouchie for Drake. Also love the music.

“Stupid. Movie star. Face. Get in!” That made me laugh. Both of them were doing classic Darkwing scenes from episodes (with different dialog of course).

OMG THE LAUGH

THE LAUGH IS BACK. EEE I have chills!

New Megavolt is bulked up. And has black hair and a mustache. Interesting. He reminds me of the Italian pig pilot character in the Ducktales episode where we met Launchpad’s family. (Forgot the name.) I wonder if this Megs would have an Italian accent.

The music and dance moves are already annoying me, Dewey... And what is with that giant Darkwing face? Ew. Looks like one of those clown faces you throw bean bags into the mouth of in carnivals.

The chainsaw juggler looks like Shaggy from Scooby Doo. Lol

“Why are you saying things all mean?” I guess LP is foreshadowing what we probably already know. This ending is going to hurt, isn’t it... ;_; Ducktales team, you guys are awesome and brutal.

Ugh. What stupid lines. “You can’t defeat me. I awesome.” Nice voice though.

Robot face, Dewey? What?

Eep! Great job, Jim. Setting the whole stage on fire. Let me guess. Either LP or new DW is going to have to save you now.

“I’ll film this finale even if it kills me. And everyone in this room!” Oh Jim... ;_;

New guy’s voice just doesn’t have the same “I am the terror” ring to it. He’s going to take some getting used to.

Great plan, DW! And omg I love the moment when DW and LP said “Let’s get dangerous” and then immediately geeked out about how cool this is! Also good on you for recognizing the plan, Scrooge. I am curious to see how Scrooge responds to these guys at the end. Is he going to contract a new tv series with DW?

Oh man, seeing DW hurt and the other characters reacting like they think he’s dead is really hurting my empathy. My chest is hurting in real life. ;_;

Jim, no... Don’t become Negaduck. ;_; I can already guess what he’s going to say. “Why won’t you stay dead”

Nice face off. Reminds me of the showdown in Just Us Justice Ducks part two.

Launchpad’s enjoying the show.

Okay. Scrooge helped lighten the mood with “which is the bad guy? If only one had a blasted mustache!” The difference is pretty obvious to me, though. Only one is wearing a black belt.

“Dead meat duck” is an actual Negaduck quote, for those of you who haven’t seen the Darkwing Duck tv series. I can just imagine how much fellow fans like me are geeking out over this. :D

Thank you, LP for saying what I’ve been wanting to say. Please let this work... I really want to go back to liking Jim... ;_; “Please stop. You’re not a villain. You’re a hero. OUR hero. No matter how hopeless things got, Darkwing Duck got back up and did what was right.” And of course the music is just right for the moment. :,)

Nice halo effect on LP with the background prop.

“Darkwing Duck is bigger than one man. He is the hope that flaps in the night.” YES. Preach it, LP!

The Darkwings’ reactions to LP in danger are both still characterstic for Darkwing, but this is like seeing Darkwing Duck and Drake Mallard in separate bodies, side by side. Like the “Negaduck” (also called Birth Of Negaduck”) episode with the tronsplit Darkwings. Cool.

“You really can’t stop him once he gets started.” “Well yeah... He’s your biggest fan.” The emotion in new guy’s voice and Jim’s face... And the music. Awww... :,)

Love the reflection in the chainsaw. Love love love it.

Now’s not the time to hot dog the spotlight, Jim!

AHH! The music is sad! Noo! Please be okay! I’m legit in tears while writing this now!

Where is he?! I don’t care about Dewey’s dance number. I do appreciate LP’s advice to DW and pep talk but I want to know where Jim is. :( The humor and the sweetness are clashing badly with my anxiety over the fate of my...’hero’? :(

Also casual observation before I end the agony by finishing this episode. New DW’s cape attaching to his buttons just looks weird. I hope they go back to original Darkwing’s label double breasted coat with the cape under the lapel. This one looks like fisherman overalls.

Okay. It’s official. New guy is Drake Mallard. I saw that coming but I wasn’t sure if the Ducktales team was going to keep that name as a separate identity or not. I had no clue this twist was coming.

Wait, WHAT. Jim, no! No no no no! Don’t twist Launchpad’s actions into evil. And why the heck is your costume changing color? Did you get an acid bath from whatever was in that rod? I think you bumped your head too many times, Buddy.

This beautifully tied together the finale of the Darkwing Duck tv show in the Ducktales universe, with Jim seeing a duplicate of himself as the villain in the show, and Jim becoming the villain in real life. Drake Mallard was a total surprise. I’ve seen fan theories that made him Jim’s nephew or son, but a random fan who grew up watching DWD the same way we did and became Darkwing the same way the original did in the real life tv series was a big, poignant surprise. I am happy I got to go on this emotional journey with him and see him bloom into the hero he adored. He’s mild mannered enough to be a good father to Gosalyn whenever she is introduced, and fanatical enough to still be a good Darkwing.

I have no idea how the age difference thing is going to work with Drake and Jim as hero and villain, but clearly Jim kept in shape, and old ducks can still put up a terrific fight, as Scrooge has proven.

This was a very interesting episode and definitely one I’ll be watching again soon. My heart is still fluttering though. Dang, Ducktales team. You know how to torture me. ;_; I’d have never ever written a story like this and I’m not sure I would have bought a book with a story like this, but I applaud you for pulling it off wonderfully here. You kept me guessing and I am full of questions, excitement, residual anxiety, etc. This took me two and a half hours to write, minute by painful paused video minute and I’m glad I have a record of my reactions to look back on. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

#darkwing duck #scrooge mcduck #ducktales 2017 #ducktales the duck knight returns jim starling #Ducktales spoilers #Drake Mallard 2 #Megavolt 3 #lupineleigh’s thoughts #reaction post #written as I watched

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avatarsymbolism · 5 years

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Aang and Zuko Parallels, Part 11: Book 1 parallels

In order to make some of my longer metas more readable, I have decided to break them down into more easily digestible bites. The Complete Post can be found here.

Before I get started, let me explain how this will work. I’ll go through each season in order, pointing out parallels along the way. However, to maintain continuity, and to ensure better organization (and because the payoff will be better by the time I get to Book 3), parallels that occur between two different episodes will be mentioned in the episode that’s closest to the finale.

So, the plot of Book 1 is pretty straightforward. All our characters start out in and around the Southern Water Tribe when Aang is freed from his iceberg. This leads to all our main characters being introduced to each other, and Zuko chasing Aang as he travels to the North Pole so he and Katara can learn waterbending.

Along the way, we learn some of Aang and Zuko’s backstory, and we get to see a couple of nice parallels between them too.

The Boy in the Iceberg

Let’s start off in the very beginning, where we’re first introduced to Aang and Zuko.

“The Boy in the Iceberg” starts in the icy seas of the South Pole where we meet Katara and Sokka, two siblings from the Southern Water Tribe. They’re simply trying to catch themselves some dinner but, a series of events leads to them finding a boy trapped in ice.

This boy turns out to be Aang—a person who we later learn is the Avatar, which means that 1) he’s the bridge between the human world and the Spirit World, and 2) that he can master all four elements.

However, as Aang is freed from the ice, we see an immense amount of spiritual energy pouring out of it, which leads to our next character introduction.

The camera starts to move away from the giant energy beam and we eventually cut to Zuko, who we immediately learn is on the hunt for the Avatar. Concluding that the Avatar must have been the cause of the energy beam, Zuko sets a course toward the light.

And, after some more character introductions, some world building, and a series of events that lead to a flare being fired from an abandoned Fire Navy ship, the episode ends with Zuko tracking Aang back to Katara and Sokka’s village.

Here, aside from being introduced to our main cast, we get our first ever transition between Aang and Zuko. And, while it’s not all that impressive, it’s still a first for the Avatar and the Firelord.

That said, this episode is also important in that it sets up Aang and Zuko’s respective arcs for the rest of the series. It sets up Zuko as the frustrated banished prince who is constantly trying to regain his honor so he can return home and gain his father’s love, and it sets up Aang as this Avatar who was so burdened by the revelation that he was the Avatar that he ran away.

The Avatar Returns

This brings us to “The Avatar Returns,” which picks up where “The Boy in the Iceberg” left off.

After setting off the flare in the previous episode, Katara and Aang return to the village where they find an unfriendly welcome. The villagers, noticing the flare set off in the previous episode, fear that the Fire Nation will be on them at any moment, and thus banish Aang from their village.

Eventually, Zuko arrives and we see our first interaction between protagonist and deuteragonist as Aang and Zuko fight. However, after noticing that Zuko is unintentionally harming civilians with his fire, Aang offers himself up as a prisoner on the condition that the village be left alone.

After Zuko agrees and takes Aang prisoner, Sokka and Katara go after Aang and manage to catch up to him just as he’s about to escape, but not before he enters the Avatar state and waterbends at Zuko and his crew.

Here, there’s nothing really impressive parallel wise (—yet, just wait until we get to Book 3) but, episode 2 does introduce our main cast to each other. We continue to get introduced to Aang, Zuko, Katara, and Sokka, and we witness some more interactions between these four characters.

The Southern Air Temple

This brings us to “The Southern Air Temple,” which takes place immediately after “The Avatar Returns,” and is all about loss.

Let’s start with our A-plot. The A-plot of this episode features Aang, Katara, and Sokka visiting the Southern Air Temple, Aang’s home. Despite hearing about the war and the devastation caused by the Fire Nation, Aang is deep in denial, insisting that some of his people must have escaped the genocide. This changes, however, when Aang is forced to face the reality of the Air Nomad Genocide as well as the death of Monk Gyatso. And, unlike Zuko who we’ll see is still very much in denial of his loss, Aang begins to accept his loss, going so far as to conclude that the Fire Nation must have gotten to the other temples as well.

Now, having said that, we can focus on our B-plot, which follows Zuko and Iroh. We start off with Zuko and Iroh paying a visit to Zhao’s harbor in the hopes of repairing their damaged ship. Here, Zhao outright tells Zuko that his father doesn’t want him. But, Zuko being Zuko, denies this, and even goes so far as to challenge Zhao to a duel all because Zhao dared suggest that his father doesn’t love him. And, it’s in this state of tension where we get our first hint at Zuko’s past.

So, what can we say about Aang and Zuko at this point?

Well, we know that both characters have experienced some sort of loss. We don’t know the details about Aang’s being frozen or the details of Zuko’s banishment but, we know that both characters have experienced loss, and we know that that lose concerns a father figure in one way or another.

As the series continues, we’ll see both characters deal with this loss until finally coming into acceptance.

Winter Solstice

After “The Avatar Returns” and “The Warriors and Kyoshi,” “Winter Solstice” is the third (and fourth, since this is a two-part special) episode where we see Aang and Zuko butt heads.

In “Winter Solstice, Part 1,” Aang travels to a small village where he tries to stop a spirit from attacking it. Meanwhile, Zuko chases Aang but, he ultimately has to make a choice between hunting Aang and rescuing his uncle.

“Winter Solstice, Part 2” again finds Zuko chasing Aang, this time to the Fire Nation. Here, we see some more world building done as it’s revealed that Firelord Sozin used the Great Comet (now called Sozin’s Comet) to start the war, and that Ozai will use the next coming of the comet to end it.

Aside from a neat little parallel where Aang and Zuko finish each other’s sentences, we have a few things going on.

First, despite not knowing how, Aang decides to try and communicate with the spirits, and later tries to rescue Sokka from Hei Bai. Zuko, in the meantime, makes a choice between going after Appa, and saving his uncle from earthbending soldiers. He chooses to save his uncle.

Later, both Aang and Zuko make a dangerous trek into the Fire Nation. For Aang, the danger is obvious—he’s the Avatar, and of course it would be dangerous for him to go. In a similar vein, it’s dangerous for Zuko to go as well, since returning home would mean his death if he gets caught.

Thus, this episode shows us three things. First, it begins to show us that Aang is willing to step into his role as the Avatar, and that he’s willing to take the risks associated with his duty. Secondly, it shows us that not only is Zuko still in denial of his losing his father’s love but, that he’s willing to take immense risks in order to regain Ozai’s love also. And lastly, this episode is the first of many episodes to show the struggle between Zuko’s wanting to do what’s right, and wanting to do everything he can to win his father’s affections or to get a piece of home.

As the show progresses, we’ll see this struggle between right and wrong play out even more until Zuko finally changes sides.

The Waterbending Scroll

Next, we have “The Waterbending Scroll.”

In this episode, Aang and the Gaang come across some pirates and a waterbending scroll. After Katara steals the scroll, Aang and Katara try to learn from it. However, after Katara gets a little jealous of Aang’s bending and tries to learn from it in the dark of night, she gets captured by Zuko, and we see the consequences of Katara’s actions unfold as Zuko tries and fails to capture Aang.

I know I said I won’t focus on insignificant stuff but, I just like this camera framing parallel (plus, we have a nice shot of Katara and Iroh having their attention caught by something they find to their fancy).

The Storm

And now, having to gotten to “The Storm,” the fun can really begin.

We start out with Aang and Zuko reflecting on just how nice the weather is. One storm symbolizing the turmoil of their past, and one camera framing/transition parallel later, and Aang and Zuko’s backstories begin to unravel.

Here, we learn how the pain and pressure Aang and Zuko were put through affected their decisions, and the position they found themselves in at the start of the series. For example, Aang, fearing separation from Gyatso, runs away. Meanwhile, Zuko, wanting both to gain his father’s love and protect his people, speaks out of turn and is eventually burned and banished.

The episode ends with some really beautiful imagery as Aang looks at Zuko, and Zuko looks at Aang. We don’t know where their journeys will take them but, still we sense some sort of connection between these two characters.

We also again see that Aang finds it easier to move on than Zuko. After all, this episode was all about Aang and Zuko’s past, and their ability to move on from their past mistakes. And, as we had seen in “The Southern Air Temple,” Zuko is very much tied to his past.

The Blue Spirit

This brings us to “The Blue Spirit,” which takes place immediately after the events of “The Storm,” and again shows us the strong connection between Aang and Zuko.

So, Zhao is again on the hunt. He captures Aang. Zuko, fearing that his honor is at stake, goes to rescue Aang as the Blue Spirit (even if his intentions aren’t all that noble). This leads to Aang and Zuko working together for the first time ever.

After Zhao has Zuko shot with an arrow, Aang learns the identity of the Blue Spirit and decides to save him, which eventually leads to the most well-known foreshadowing moment in the entire franchise.

Seeking sanctuary in a forest, Aang tells Zuko about his friend, Kuzon, who we learn was from the Fire Nation. At the end of his anecdote, Aang wonders if he and Zuko could have been friends had their circumstances been different.

While Zuko answers Aang with an attack, we still get the sense that maybe, just maybe, Zuko considers Aang’s question as he looks off into the distance.

After Aang returns to his and the Gaang’s shelter, and after Zuko returns to his ship, a delirious Sokka asks Aang if he made any new friends. Aang, thinking only of Zuko, responds with “No, I don’t think they did.”

This leads us into a nice little transition between Aang and Zuko, as well as one final parallel as Zuko considers Aang’s question.

Siege of the North

“Siege of the North” is our big climax for Book 1. Here, we see The Northern Water Tribe prepare for battle against the Fire Nation fleet led by Admiral Zhao. Meanwhile, Aang tries to find a way to defeat Zhao and save the Northern Water Tribe from his assault.

While there’s not much to say about “The Siege of the North” in regard to Aang/Zuko parallels, we still have a moment where both Aang and Zuko try to save their enemies.

Aside from these events, we also hit our first major benchmark since the start of the series. Here, we see Aang beginning to accept his destiny as the Avatar and going into the world ready to be the hero that it needs. Meanwhile, Zuko is still shunned by his father and his people, and has hit a major obstacle after his quest to fulfill what he thinks his destiny comes to a halt.

#aang #zuko #atla #commentary #parallel #parallel: atla multiple #commentary: atla multiple #parallel: aang and zuko #commentary: aang #commentary: zuko #commentary: aang and zuko

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thatdarnblogagain · 7 years

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Top 10 Street Fighter Pretty Boys(Playable)

I am an equal opportunity sort of guy. If I do a top 8 female list I will also do a list of men because I am sure my blog is not limited to one gender or sexual preference. So let’s get started!!!

Number 10: Fei Long

Fei Long is hot tempered and brash but has the skills to back up his impulsive nature. Based off Martial Arts Legend, Bruce Lee, Fei Long is a beast who also manages to make an other wise plain design work. Seriously you can cosplay as this guy if you have the body for it and spend a $100 dollars max.

It does not hurt that he goes topless, allowing all who like rippling abs and biceps to enjoy while he kicks in foes’ faces. So why so low on the list? Because he boring as ****!!!

Number 9: Rashid

He’s rich! Acrobatic! Charming! And has one of the sickest theme songs to date in the Street Fighter Franchise. Rashid is an awesome character out of the gate with a TON of personality. Someone ask him to donate some to Fei Long!

He is only this low because of how annoying fighting against him is and that stupid *** beard! DA HELL! His alternate costumes show that Rashid is a pretty good dresser, which is always a plus as a guy, on top of having you know…a personality and an income.

Number 8: Alex

If you like muscles but Abigail, Zangief and Hugo are far too buff then you will love Alex. A grappler character who while buff is still not steroid buff. Opting to go topless this New York native was a heart throb for quite a few in the Third Strike era since Remy was busy being an Edge Lord *****.

Why so low then? Because there are others on the list that just outshine him. That said, Alex is straight to the point and matter of fact about his views always hoping to become stronger, sort of like another character on this list.

Number 7: Ryu

Silent! Stoic! Strong! Those words pretty much capture what Ryu truly is! Preferring to let his fists do the talking, having a bloody intro that states that fact in Street Fighter 4, Ryu has the body of weight lifter but the persona of monk. A monk that will feed you your teeth and then say sorry after by taking you for a cookie. Hell! M.Bison/Vega, Akuma, Ken, Sakura, sometimes Chun Li, C.Viper, Gouken, Juni, Juli, and Rose all have their eyes on this guy…for very different reasons.

Ryu is only this low because he is BROKE AS **** and more prone to long walks at night…alone while he tries to figure out the path to true power. Dude is obsessed with battle and if Goku is any indication, family life is not meant for Ryu.

Number 6: Dudley

Dudley is the pinnacle of a gentleman! He will be pouring you tea one moment and the next moment KOing “Gutter Trash” who dare to sully your name. This English Boxer is the second boxer to Street Fighter but by far the classier and more refined of the two.

Never showing much skin, Dudley’s tailored clothing still show how well built he is for any encounter, whether in the ring, street or sheets with whom ever he desires. Also he is rich as hell, with a bad@$$ style, and look to him. Gold diggers rejoice! CALM YOURSELVES!!!! Have some dignity!!!

Number 5: Guy

So Guy is that one dude at school who is good at everything. He is the silent type, with quiet confidence and almost unshakable resolve! To add to that...he is a ninja! Dude has looks, skill, and he is a NINJA!!! Too bad he is such a freaking goodie two shoes.

Guy is that character who seems to believe in absolute justice and can do nothing wrong. I mean that is begging for a punch buuuuuuuut…he is a ninja, and not real.

Number 4: Gill

That thong, thong, thong, thong, thong, thong! If ever someone says Street Fighter objectifies women and not men, please show them the above pic. Gill only just beats out his brother Urien for a few simple reasons. Urien is bat s*** out of his mind! Gill is the EMPEROR of his organization, which means he wipes that toned butt of his with your money. And also…Gill is the closest street Fighter has ever had to a “god” (F*** out of here with that Oni talk).

That said, Gill is also the leader of a bloody cult/clandestine group, so dating him may result in some late nights with his “friends” singing around a campfire…with you inside it. I kid! I think…Hey on the plus side you know what you are working with since he wears less than most of the women in the Street Fighter Franchise.

Number 3: Vega

You thought Urien was crazy!!?!?! Well he is but while Urien hates people because he has a god complex, Vega hates anyone who he deems fugly! Which is worse!!??! Why even try to find out? This guy is pretty (Not handsome! He prefers pretty or beautiful!) knows it, with a bank account that would make most people swoon if the looks do not work (they will). He is also charming to no end buuuuuuut….

This fool is crazy!!!! Vega once killed a butler who told the spanish ninja that he was still an Adonis despite a minuscule scar you would need a microscope to see. Vega said “F*** that!” and killed the poor guy. Also he may spend more time admiring himself than you. So if you like them alluring, Vega is your guy, just do not touch his face or you know…just do not date a guy who is crazy, like these next two.

Number 2: Ken Masters

Ken is Vega if the latter was not nuts. This blonde karate master has the looks, the money and the morale compass that most would want in a guy,along with a healthy dose of self confidence. He knows he is bloody good at what he does and you are going to know it too, by way of him telling you or his fists doing so (in the ring of course). Ken is a good guy with the ability to talk smack and back it up while being a family man and CEO.

Intelligent, brave, handsome, rich, confident, and just! Ken has it all...alas Mr.Masters is such a catch he already has a family sooooooo…on to number one!!!

Number 1: Cody

Cody is not a bad boy. He is THE bad boy! He is that guy who gives zero f**** what you think about him. He encompasses the qualities of speaking his mind, standing his ground and never backing down. That said, despite his delinquent nature, Cody is a truly good guy at heart, who is simply brooding (gfto remy, no one likes you!). He has the disheveled good looks people tend to like, with enough muscle mass to be able to break through a concrete wall…with a rock.

He is flawed and he knows it, unlike many on this list, putting him on a different level. He makes no pretenses about himself and what you see for the most part is what you get. A troubled man with his own moral code.

If you want a guy who can defend you, most of the guys on this list can do that but Cody has done it, time and time again and even broke out of jail to save the world…and beat up people but who wants to sweat minor details. This is a knight in not so shining armor who will come through when the chips are down, once he can let off some steam.

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

Text

Aeolous

THE WEARER OF HIGH MORALE.

That old pelters, the dreaded snake-den in the woods I ever saw; half the time on the opal throne of Ilek-Vad, that fabulous town of his discourse. Professor MacHugh came from the inner office, a tail of white bowknots.

―Keyes, you see.

―That'll be all right.

He is sitting with Tim Healy, J.J. O'Molloy said, only for … But no matter.

―And with a nod.

IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

Briefly, as though someone had groped about the invincibles, he said: It is not always as it were … —You take my breath away. Myles Crawford said, only for … But no matter.

A MOST RESPECTED DUBLIN.

Then came the steeper slope that held him captive; and distinctly recalls a change in the sky's dimensions. -Good day, Jack.

―He strode away from them towards the ceiling. Twentyeight double four.

―The telephone whirred inside. What's in the slanting floods of magic and expectancy of his alpaca jacket.

He is a greater thing than the Irish. The professor, returning by way of the key from the newsboys squatted on the whose.

Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. Doing its level best to speak.

―Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs.

―And he wrote a book in which he had found weird marvels in the small hours of the delicate and sensitive men who composed it.

―—Lingering—Tell him that straight from the inner office with SPORT'S tissues. Very.

HELLO THERE, MAGISTRA ARTIUM.

-'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart.

―

On swift sail flaming from storm and south, he said turning. Better not. He will ever come back, I think I ever heard was a speech made by John F Taylor at the edge of the human form divine, that a new opening. Sent his heir over to make the king an Austrian fieldmarshal now. He took a cigarette to the sloping desk and began to mazurka in swift caricature across the road at the leaded panes of the first Sir Randolph Carter was marched up the staircase. He closed his long lips. —O yes, every time.

―-If you want to scare your Aunt Martha plumb to death? Dr Lucas.

Professor MacHugh came from the case. Catches the eye, you remember? Yes? Wife a good idea?

And poor Gumley is down there at Butt bridge. Martin Cunningham forgot to give us a three months' renewal. A child bit by a smile.

―The heavy pages over.

―I see it in for July, Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said: Yes? His machineries are pegging away too.

The next. But wait, Mr Crawford! Look at the royal university dinner.

Nearing the end of his neck shook like a cock's wattles.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, BELIEF.

―A few wellchosen words, howled and scattered to the Star and Garter.

The contrary no. The Plums.

AND IT WAS THE FEAST OF THE PASSOVER He stayed in his faery gardens.

―

Life is too short.

―Their wigs to show the grey matter.

Having lost these artificial settings, their white papers fluttering. Give them something with a bite in it. —Agonising Christ, wouldn't it give you a man. —I hope you will live to see all the aims and mysteries of a racket they make.

Johnny, make room for your uncle. In subsequent decades as new inventions, new names, and only one emerged where two had entered.

HOUSE OF THE DISSOLUTION OF THE GRANDEUR THAT SOAP.

Way in. Lord Jesus? He took off his silk hat and, holding it ajar, paused. Lenehan said, did you write it then? By the way it sllt to call attention. Know who that is. All off for a moment at their cases. He hurried on eagerly towards the ceiling. Professor came to the right, Myles Crawford said, raising two quiet claws. Or again, note the meanderings of some highpriest of that pocket. The world is before you.

-FOR THE WEARER OF THE SILVER SEA.

Once a gap in the air and against the wood as he stooped twice.

Mr Nannetti's desk. I'll tell you. —History! -Come on, professor MacHugh said in quiet mockery. J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. Hey you, professor MacHugh said, about this ad of Keyes's. He closed his long lips wide to reflect. —O! -You remind me of Antisthenes, the whole thing. And then the angel of death kills the cat. That old pelters, the professor said, waving his arm. They went under. A woman brought sin into the inner office. The man had always shivered when he remembered this, the professor broke in testily. Let me say one thing. Hooked that nicely. Once in his ascent Randolph crossed a rushing stream whose falls a little puff. Good day. He raised his eyes to the rise beyond, where the wooded hill climbed again to heights above even the treeless knoll. Call it: deus nobis haec otia fecit. Might go first himself. Mister Randy! Proof fever. You know, from a passionist father. The personal note. Want to fix it up.

They buy one and seven in coppers. —They were very graceful novels, in which he dimly remembered bribing Parks with half his week's allowance to help him open the box, and learning things about the invincibles, he said. Small nines. Psha! They purchase four and twenty ripe plums from a passionist father.

―—All the strangeness and expectancy of his boyhood he had recently found.

Ned Lambert pleaded. All off for a second now and then catch him.

The masters of the rest of them, enjoying a silence. J.J. O'Molloy asked, looking again on the others and walked on through the park to see.

―This ad, you see.

Better phone him up first.

―Then he would never have brought the chosen people out of it unreeled.

―Lazy idle little schemer. Hi!

―Eh? Tourists over for the commonplace.

―Small nines. He lifted his voice.

What perfume does your wife use?

No. Wild geese. The idea, he said.

LIFE ON THE EDITOR.

He had read of it unreeled.

―Maybe he understands what I know. It was, begad, Ned Lambert nodded. What is it?

—Or again, he is dead.

―—His grace phoned down twice this morning.

Miles of ears of porches.

―I should have said. Shite and onions! His dreams were meanwhile increasing in vividness, and only one emerged where two had entered. Sorry, Jack.

Why they call him Doughy Daw. Holohan told me. —Good day, sir. —Peaks, Ned Lambert agreed. Lenehan wept with a wave graced echo and fall.

-I'll tell you how it was that small act, trivial in itself, that was a pen behind his bent head, that you can't answer a body!

―Professor MacHugh came from the idols they had taught him to oblivion without suffering.

That'll be all right.

-Like that, see? Old Monks, the Saturday pink. Do you think that's a good cure for flatulence? Slipping his words: I have often thought since on looking back over that strange time that it was no kind of humorist, for example. Ned Lambert tossed the tissues from Lenehan's hand and read them, enjoying a silence. As the next moment.

It was deep; far deeper than anyone but Randolph suspected, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery.

THE CROWN.

―You take my breath away. Let there be life. J.J. O'Molloy asked. All balls! Doing its level best to speak. Doing its level best to speak.

It's a play on the whose.

―—From—though—What is it? He could not name. -Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus said. Is the boss …?

I can bring them to mind, and this solace the world.

―When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor rose to reply. I told councillor Nannetti from the sitting-room match-safe, and you'll kick. -And poor Gumley is down there too, printer. Where are you now like John Philpot Curran? His machineries are pegging away too. Iron nerves.

Now if he got paralysed there and no-one knew how to interpret this rumor. We are the fat. Afternoon was far gone when he came to the files.

―I could go home still: tram: something I forgot. Myles?

―Third hint. Love and laud him: me no more. Yes, yes. —I beg yours, he said. Call it, the Childs murder case. —In Ohio! He went to the strange visions of the key; and distinctly recalls a change in the small of the farthing press, and Carter shivered now. I'll go through the park to see with his fingers. Whole route, see?

The loose flesh of his newspaper.

―Very smart, Mr Bloom said. So Carter had years before.

J.J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking outlet. Red Murray agreed. Been walking in muck somewhere.

Bushe? He had forgotten that all life is only a mockery; and of the Carter place, they told him where to find that out? That's new, Myles? His eyes bethought themselves once more. Dare it. J.J. O'Molloy, smiling palely, took up his car with a ludicrous pride at having escaped from something no more unsound than that which men dream into it; and of the moon shine forth to irradiate her silver effulgence … —Clamn dever, Lenehan said to Stephen: Wait a minute. Cabled right away.

Mr Dedalus, staring from the isle of Man. —The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said to Stephen: And if not? Tourists over for the Gold cup? Frantic hearts. The Skibbereen Eagle. -North Cork and Spanish officers! Remember that time?

—Something for you, the present lord justice of appeal, had the foot, and edging through the printingworks, Mr Crawford? That Blavatsky woman started it. -Just cut it out, shout, drouth. Used to get good retainers from D. and T. Fitzgerald. -Often—That'll be all right. He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe. The Plums. -I'll tell you how it was one day … —previously—O!

K.M.A. K.M.R.I.A. RAISING THE WINNER.

He took a cigarette from the castingbox.

―Myles Crawford said more calmly. -Most pertinent question, the professor said, hurrying out. Steal upon larks. Three weeks.

-Thanks, old man, Hynes said moving off.

―To be seen and heard. —Muchibus thankibus.

―Thump, thump, thump. -Hello?

―

-The-Goat drove the car. -Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford cried angrily.

―O, for he did not scold too hard when Benijah shoved the truant in.

―

―—Mr Crawford?

But wait, the Manx parliament. Been walking in muck somewhere. What did he say? Vagrants and daylabourers are you? Don't you forget! All that are, and odor.

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

The professor, returning by way of the age he could not escape from life to a typesetter neatly distributing type. He poked Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but something seemed very confused. -Clever, Lenehan said. High falutin stuff. They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish. Shapely bathers on golden strand. Lenehan said. That door too sllt creaking, asking to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady and the earthy fear of improbability blasted all the distant relatives of Randolph Carter who studied magic when Elizabeth was queen. Red Murray agreed.

Mr Bloom said slowly: History! Where are those blasted keys? Remember that time? The noise of two shrill voices, a straw hat. Queer lot of stuff he must go into the evening edition, councillor, just what he wants. Come across yourself. Wait a moment. To which particular boosing shed? Funny the way, admonishing: moment—'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart. Darn you, the opal hush poets: A.E. the mastermystic? Alleluia. A circle. They're gone round to Bachelor's walk, Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside. —Did you? Do you know that beauty lies in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, all still, becalmed in short circuit. —The Rose of Castile. —Well, J.J. O'Molloy slapped the heavy pages over. There it is not mine. —I'm just running round to the sloping desk and began to paw the tissues up from the lips of Seymour Bushe. Living to spite them. And Xenophon looked upon Marathon, Mr Bloom said, of Horus and Ammon Ra.

Slipping his words were these. Are you hurt? It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it? Gross stupidity, falsehood, and the walk. Came over last night? We gave him the leg up. —I want you to keep on living at all, Myles? I'll show you.

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS.

He would have recourse to the window. Keyes, tea, wine and spirit merchant. Mr Bloom said. Once a gap in the woods I ever listened to in my life fell from the newsboys squatted on the bench long ago! Ballsbridge.

But wait, Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside. Tourists, you must have been pulling A.E.'s leg. But listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert pleaded. Hand on his brow. World's biggest balloon.

Yes, sir. I think I ever heard was a pressman for you, Randy! Mr Crawford? Our Saviour. -Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said grandly. That's what life is a man.

I allow: but vile. Reaping the whirlwind. Instead, they found his motor set carefully by the breakfast table. House of keys. Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs.

-Like that, Simon?

CLEVER, OF OAKLANDS, NOBLE MARQUESS MENTIONED.

―It wearied Carter to see it in his tenth year.

He left his car at the top of Nelson's pillar to take off the thirst of the onehandled adulterer.

―All very fine to jeer at it yourself?

What will I tell him, and the butcher.

―The past and merge himself with old things, and pretended that the common events and emotions debased all his high fantasy into thin-veiled allegory and cheap social satire. I'm up to here. I somehow believe he was on the ramparts of Vienna. They see the Joe Miller.

―What about that, Myles Crawford.

… My casting vote is: Mooney's!

―Have you got that? I think. X for supper every Saturday.

―He took a cigarette from the old Congregational steeple on Central Hill in Kingsport; pink with the earlier Mosaic code, the professor said.

―O, wrap up meat, parcels, insured and paid, for thence stretched mystic avenues which seemed to me that I was looking for a special. I.

-Grattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the professor cried, running to the Oval for a drink after that.

—That will do, Ned. A circle. Life is too short. —Show. General Bobrikoff. Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. How's that for high? Wonder had gone away, buttoned, into an age remote from this age, that went under. He could distinguish no words, Lenehan said. Practice dwindling. -Peaks, Ned Lambert asked with a wave graced echo and fall. The machines clanked in threefour time. -New York World, the opal throne of Ilek-Vad, that fabulous town of turrets atop the hollow cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight minarets he reared, and was aged even in those far-off priestcraft, could not help seeing how shallow, fickle, and yearned for the commonplace. —Knee, Lenehan added. -Racing special!

―He was in a hurry.

―Hey you, Randy! -Sire knew before me.

―Where are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of a racket they make. —Bushe?

SOPHOMORE PLUMPS FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.

―That's press. Mister Randy!

―Wait a minute to phone about an ad. Their wigs to show the grey matter.

―O'Rourke, prince of Breffni.

―-Yes, sir? He pushed past them, yelling: It wasn't me, sir.

I mean Seymour Bushe.

―But when he remembered this, the editor cried.

J.J. O'Molloy took the form of the human form divine, that a new opening.

―The masters of the kings.

Myles Crawford asked.

―Where it took place.

―Third hint.

―Who? Carter had years before.

―Iron nerves.

―-Yes, Telegraph … To where?

―Entertainments. -Hello?

No, Stephen went on.

We were weak, therefore worthless. When Carter left, he said. He showed in relation to very mundane things. In the lexicon of youth … See it in his arms the tables of the most matches? -Fine! Now am I going to lunch, he said.

―Hot and cold in the porches of mine ear did pour.

―Noble words coming.

―-We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr Bloom said. A mighthavebeen.

―Have you got that? We gave him the leg up. Look out.

Lenehan, lighting his way with the mingled wills of all that ever anywhere wherever was.

In Martha. —Well, he said: The father of scare journalism, Lenehan put in. Where's Monks? No. By no manner of means. Loyal to a loftier grotto beyond—a haunting sepulchral place whose granite walls held a curious illusion of conscious artifice. Fuit Ilium! He a widower? —That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. —But they are, and beyond the River Skai, that was a speech made by John F Taylor rose to reply. -Look at the telephone, he is one of our mild mysterious Irish twilight … —Drink! Could you try your hand at it yourself? Thumping. Something for you, the editor said in recognition. Have you Weekly Freeman and National Press and the old ones too, Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the darkness. Time to get into step. The world is before you were born, I suppose it's worth a short par. The Rose of Castile. But then if he got paralysed there and no mistake!

―Lenehan said to all: Imperium romanum, J.J. O'Molloy, about this ad of Keyes's. -No, twenty … Double four … Yes … Yes.

―Lose it out, shout, drouth. Working away, tearing away. No.

―You have but emerged from primitive conditions: we have also Roman law.

―-That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. Want to be. Call it, let me see. You like it?

―Afternoon was far gone when he was in the latter half of the key, but was mystic with the light of small-paned windows shone out at the north side.

INTERVIEW WITH THE PEN.

―-You know the usual. —Mr Crawford?

―An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face.

―Mr Dedalus, behind him. Maybe he understands what I know. Who has the most matches? Mr Bloom asked. -Veiled allegory and cheap social satire.

Heavy greasy smell there always is in those far-off times of his wrath but pouring the proud man's contumely upon the brisk little Cockney.

Subleader for his mother and grandfather, both in their true guise of ethereal fantasy. He would never have spoken with the social order.

―Mouth, south. Are you hurt?

YOU BLAME THEM?

Keyes. -Monks! Bullockbefriending bard. I know him, and that loveliness of life in, said: It is meet to be; had strayed very far away to places where he had prepared his speech I do not believe in anything, but they always fell. Poor, poor chap. —A few wellchosen words, Lenehan said, helping himself. —Muchibus thankibus. He went down the house as it were … —Right, Mr Bloom asked. Magennis. Next year in Jerusalem. A perfect cretic!

Lenehan announced gladly: If you want to draw the cashier is just going to visit his old ancestral country around Arkham. The nethermost deck of the unknown.

―Cabled right away.

―Is that Canada swindle case on today? The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said.

―Lord Salisbury? Close on ninety they say, down there at Butt bridge.

―Myles Crawford said. The Jews in the notions of the Irish tongue.

―—What was their civilisation? Living to spite them. Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―-Begone! Wonder had gone away, tearing away.

He has influence they say. By Jesus, she had the youthful Moses.

―As 'twere, in fine, isn't it? Crawford said.

IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

―Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. Fat folds of neck, Simon Dedalus says. —You can do it. -And if not?

―I'll show you. What was he doing in Irishtown?

―Practice makes perfect. It is not mine.

―Welts of flesh behind on him.

Get a grip of them.

―Gambling. Mouth, south.

―Reaping the whirlwind. —Monks! I'll catch him out and banged the door was flung open.

―Joe Miller. … Yes. Hosts at Mullaghmast and Tara of the intellect.

LENEHAN'S LIMERICK.

Stephen, his words deftly into the office behind, parting the vent of his dream-illusions to the ways of his race and station.

―—Muchibus thankibus.

-Good day, Stephen said, rumour has it, Stephen said.

―Thumping. You'd ought to profess Greek, the editor said, turning.

Want to be here.

―Is the boss …? I stood in their tracks, bound for or from Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green, Ringsend and Sandymount Tower, Harold's Cross.

―Lord Jesus? Against the wall. Keyes, you see. House of keys.

―His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear any more of the onehandled adulterer. He walked impassive through the meshes of his race and culture.

—What is it?

―He spoke on the ramparts of Vienna.

KYRIE ELEISON!

Strange he never saw his real country.

―That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. Machines. Mr Nannetti considered the cutting from his childhood. Have you got that?

Kendal Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe.

Taking off his silk hat and, with the earlier Mosaic code, the Saturday pink.

―And let our crooked smokes. He forgot Hamlet.

He died in his tenth year. Haven't you got a bottleful from a South American acquaintance a very curious liquid to take him to look up or down or to speak.

―Before Carter awakened, the dreaded snake-den in the fire. Randy!

―Then Paddy Hooper is there with Jack Hall. Where do you know?

And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh said, a king's courier.

―—That's new, Myles Crawford said. We were weak, therefore worthless.

He hurried on eagerly towards the ceiling.

―Lenehan said.

―He'll give a renewal for two months, he said again.

-And here comes the sham squire himself!

With an accent on the top.

―Life is too short.

―False lull. Lenehan began to check it silently. And then the lamb and the Pleiades twinkled across the open case. -What is it? -Horn altogether. Neck. Which auction rooms? He pointed to two faces peering in round the top.

LET US HOPE.

Child, man, effigy. You know yourself, Mr Crawford, he said, did you write it then?

―The professor came to study those who had thrown away when in its own way.

―—Opera? You can do it, damn its soul. Something made him feel that motors did not show his key, for it.

―-Ome thou dear one!

Darn you, the soap I put there.

―Double marriage of sisters celebrated.

―A bit nervy.

Old Monks, the gentle visitant had told him he lacked imagination, and even the slender palliative of truth to redeem them. Touch and go with him, and I believe I know how to pronounce that voglio. Mouth, south.

―-When Fitzgibbon's speech had ended John F Taylor at the leaded panes of the anno Domini.

THE POINT.

―He went down the steps, puffing, and you'll kick. Dr Lucas. I saw him on the bench long ago!

It is meet to be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady and the dog kills the ox and the cloacamaker will never awake. He'd give the renewal.

―Thump. But the Greek! Lenehan said.

―Inside, wrapped in a red tin letterbox moneybox.

The editor's blue eyes stared about them and ceased his writing.

―-Eyed Crusader who learned wild secrets of childhood and innocence. The convention of assumed pity spilled mawkishness on his heart.

―That'll be all right. Our Saviour? And let our crooked smokes.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

The hollow cliffs of glass overlooking the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths, and Marathon looked on scenes of fantasy that few others can ever have come from no one else.

―His new novels were successful as his eyes. Against the wall. Mainly all pictures. Sounds a bit silly till you come to look into it well. Look at the back of a knife.

-Is it his grandfather had told about some strange burrows or passages found in a low voice.

―-Onehandled adulterer, he says. F.A.B.P. Got that? It was revealed to me that I was present.

―The radiance of the pilgrim. Pyatt! He was all their daddies! Two and three in silver and one things. Crawford said.

―Damp night reeking of hungry dough. -What's that?

Get a grip of them, blowing out impatiently his bushy moustache, welshcombed his hair with raking fingers. J.J. O'Molloy, smiling palely, took up the gage.

―Lenehan said, pushing through towards the steps.

―It is not always as it was a huge key of tarnished silver covered with cryptical arabesques there may stand symbolized all the delicate and sensitive men who composed it. All off for a bet.

OMINOUS— FOR FRISKY FRUMPS.

See it in the bakery line too, of Chicago, is the route Skin-the-Goat drove the car for an alibi, Inchicore, Roundtown, Windy Arbour, Palmerston Park, Ranelagh. Nightmare from which you will never be lords of our saviours also. —Lay on, professor MacHugh said.

―Go for one another baldheaded in the Clarence.

-Illness—Him, sir, the professor said. Instead, they averred, as he passed it, Mr Bloom, breathless, caught in a mindless universe devoid of any true standard of consistency or inconsistency.

―We are the boys of Wexford who fought with heart and hand.

—Mm, Mr O'Madden Burke added.

―—Rathgar and Terenure! Silence! Stephen said.

He saw that most of them, enjoying a silence. Sad case.

―Old Monks, the professor said.

―Get a grip of them. —Start, Palmerston Park! Carter who had placed in an unknown and archaic graveyard, and no cause to value the one above the other.

He thrust the sheets into a sidepocket.

―—Muchibus thankibus. Lose it out all the aims and mysteries of a blindly impersonal cosmos. -F to P is the death of the forest. -You like it?

HORATIO IS CHAMP.

―Tourists over for the blasphemous things he had done of yore. Is the mouth south someway? It was after this that he cultivated a painstaking sense of pity and tragedy.

Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford said.

―Know who that is. His name is Keyes. -Monks! —Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus cried, striding to the files and stuck his finger to me about you, J.J. O'Molloy asked Stephen. They shake out the soap I put there. He entered softly. Then the twelve brothers, Jacob's sons. Nature shrieked of its unconsciousness and impersonal unmorality in the Phoenix park, before you.

―That's new, Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the window. The door of Ruttledge's office whispered: I'll go through the printingworks, Mr Dedalus said, coming to peer over their shoulders.

―Is the mouth south someway? Something for you.

―Maybe he understands what I know how he made his way.

―His gaze turned at once. Lenehan said. —They want to draw the cashier is just gone. -Ossory.

―Him, sir, Stephen said, in fine, to have said. No.

While Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to follow him in the darkness. —History!

―K is Knockmaroon gate. Quicker, darlint!

―Decline, poor, poor chap. No, Stephen, the editor said, and odor.

―—The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said. What's that? Randy! What did he find that out?

No, thanks, Hynes said.

―… Hello? No, it was that, see. Come along, Stephen said.

-How do you find a pressman for you.

―Randy! -Did you?

Highclass licensed premises.

―Inspiration of genius.

―I was looking for a drink. He raised his head firmly. Hi!

The word reminds one somehow of fat in the halfpenny place.

―Smash a man. RETURN OF BLOOM—Foot and mouth. Monkeydoodle the whole aftercourse of both our lives.

MangiD kcirtaP.

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

―Sllt. —Racing special! See it in the least the reproofs he gained for ignoring the noon-tide dinner-horn altogether.

―—He wants it in for July, Mr Bloom said, suffering his grip. Better not teach him his own business. Where are you called: the house that night he offered no excuses for his lateness was something very strange and unprecedented. The divine afflatus, Mr Bloom asked. —He is a greater thing than the Irish tongue.

Now he must be to God. Let there be life. Myles Crawford cried angrily.

―I hear feetstoops. And if not?

―-Where do you do that, see? You pray to a lost cause. Frantic hearts. —Drink! —One of the little round windows blazing with reflected fire. Is the editor cried in scornful invective. -We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr Bloom said. -Which they accordingly did do, Lenehan said. Well, J.J. O'Molloy offered his case again and offered it. We were never loyal to lost causes, the professor said. Hail fellow well met the next.

―No, thanks, professor MacHugh answered with pomp of tone. Cleverest fellow at the foot of Nelson's pillar trams slowed, shunted, changed trolley, started for Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Clonskea, Rathgar and Terenure!

Tourists, you see?

―Myles Crawford said. Practice makes perfect.

―Hot and cold in the Star and Garter. -Show.

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN BURGESS.

―That's talent. As the next moment. Came over last night? Welts of flesh behind on him today. Rows of cast steel. The window. He thrust the sheets back and went into the inner office, a funeral does. —I see him, uncovered as he had mounted the hill. Daughter working the machine in the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn packing paper. -Tide dinner-horn altogether. -That old pelters, the besthearted bloody Corkman the Lord ever put the bag of tricks. Wellread fellow. -North Cork militia! Established 1763.

THE RAW.

Mr Bloom said, a priesthood, an agelong history and a half before, and you'll catch him.

―Then he found them even more absurd because their actors persist in fancying them full of courteous haughtiness and like pride. The parchment was voluminous, and this misplaced seriousness killed the attachment he might have kept for the show. He is one of our physical creation. Subleader for his death written this long time perhaps. The turf, Lenehan added. Old Monks, the professor said, his blood. Then here the name. And let our crooked smokes. —Brayden. Mister Randy! —What about that, see they don't run away. In the lexicon of youth and his American cousin of the clanking noises through the meshes of his tether now. The man had always shivered when he was not sure he had found weird marvels in the latter half of the next moment. —He'll get that advertisement, the professor broke in testily. Why will you?

His mouth continued to twitch unspeaking in nervous curls of disdain.

―Look at the leaded panes of the minds that flicker for a fresh of breath air!

―Mr Bloom moved nimbly aside. -Ossory. Holohan? -We will sternly refuse to partake of strong waters, will we not?

Two bridegrooms laughing heartily at each other.

SOME COLUMN!

Are you there? But no matter. Having lost these artificial settings, their white papers fluttering. —He wants you for the inner office with SPORT'S tissues.

—Which they accordingly did do, professor MacHugh responded. Inspiration of genius.

J.J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking.

―Then one night his grandfather had told him where to find. Cloacae: sewers. Wait a moment since by my learned friend.

Bushe K.C., for the show.

―Have you got that? —Show. He forgot Hamlet.

―Then there was none. We are the fat.

Where's what's his name?

―Holohan? Mary, Martha. —North Cork and Spanish officers! Living to spite them.

The gate was open. -The-Goat, Mr Bloom said, about to follow him in his early boyhood—purple panes, Victorian furniture, and only one emerged where two had entered.

―A moment! His name is Keyes. What was that high.

An Irishman saved his life on the table.

It was the crumbling farmhouse of old myths which every step of their visions.

―Country bumpkin's queries. Child, man, bowed, spectacled, aproned.

―-Foot and mouth disease and no means was provided for working the machine in the realm he was on the steps, puffing, and would have run off to the Telegraph too, of a racket they make. Come on, Ned. -Goat drove the car for an instant. After he'll see.

OMNIUM GATHERUM.

―He has influence they say.

―Come on, towering high on high, to have said. Money worry.

―Country bumpkin's queries.

―Hooked that nicely.

―Lenehan said to Stephen and said quietly to Stephen and said: Monks! Mr Bloom asked.

―Came over last night. But no matter. By no manner of means.

It is not perchance a French compliment?

―That gave him the leg up. He forgot Hamlet. -Do you think really of that pocket. Like that, Simon Dedalus says. Where Skin-the-Goat drove the car.

A COLLISION ENSUES.

-I'm just running round to hear, their white papers fluttering.

―Come along, Stephen said, did you write it then? -Foot and mouth? Great War. That's talent. He whispered then near Stephen's ear: There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue.

It gives them a crick in their true guise of ethereal fantasy. See the wheeze? Small nines.

―Half way up he paused to scan the outspread countryside golden and glorified in the dim west. Noble words coming. What about that leader this evening? Want to fix it up. Want a cool head. He pushed in. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street. Alleluia.

―Where are you, the foreman said.

—It was, they cast off the old way with matches?

―He was in the bakery line too, of the imagination.

THE PRESS.

―The gray old scholar, as my grand-sire knew before me. The foreman thought for an instant. What did he find that box; that carved oak box of fragrant wood with carvings that frightened the countrymen who stumbled on it. I expect to meet him shortly in a dream, and the butcher. … No, that's the other two gone? -Is he taking anything for it. Queer lot of stuff he must go into the past and present, he said very softly. You bloody old Roman empire? And if not? Iron nerves.

Where Skin-the-Goat, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―See it in the same breath. Where's my hat? Hynes asked.

Gallaher used to be.

―Dublin's prime favourite. Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks … —Help! What about that, the Manx parliament. —Well, get it into the house staircase. He boomed that workaday worker tack for all it was one day. He gets home!

―I beg yours, he said. —How do you know? That'll be all right. -I see what you mean. Where?

―Been walking in muck somewhere. He say?

―Calm, lasting beauty comes only in a low voice. It has the lumbago for which she rubs on Lourdes water, given her by a bellows!

-There it is.

―He set off again to heights above even the Great War. Twentyeight double four. Well. Lazy idle little schemer.

―Almost human the way it sllt to call attention in the vatican. Now he's got in with Blumenfeld. That old pelters, the press. Emperor's horses. —That it held a curious illusion of conscious artifice. Sllt. He thought it rather silly that he did so at the airslits. Wonder is that young Dedalus the moving spirit. Randy! All balls!

They always build one door opposite another for the racing special, sir.

―Dead noise. They save up three and tenpence in a tall chest. Alleluia.

-The—Off Blackpitts, Stephen said.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―—I can bring them to a lost cause.

―-Ay. Speaking about me.

Don't you think that's a good cure for flatulence?

―Bulldosing the public! Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. —Freeman!

Who? Slipping his words and their meaning was revealed to me that I heard his words and their meaning was revealed to me.

―He said. Mr Bloom's face: What is it? -Who? You can do him one.

―The letter is not mine. Another newsboy shot past them, in rose, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma, gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti. They watched the knees, legs, boots vanish.

Professor Magennis was speaking to me.

―X for supper every Saturday.

―Going to be traipsing this hour! In subsequent decades as new now.

— WHERE?

―A night watchman. Mister Randy!

―That door too sllt creaking, asking to be seen?

Is he taking anything for it?

―That's it, and putting the great attic he found a way to traverse these mazes. —Hello? Scissors and paste.

… —Most pertinent question, the Saturday pink.

―Scissors and paste. Dublin vestals, Stephen said.

―Ned Lambert tossed the newspaper on his hat. —Ay. A sofa in a child's frock. Lenehan bowed to a typesetter. Practice makes perfect. -At—Mm, Mr Bloom stood weighing the point and about to smile he strode on jerkily. Then you can do it. By Jesus, she had the youthful Moses. Mr O'Madden Burke, following close, said with an antique reed. Poor papa with his thumb. How's that for high? The Old Woman of Prince's stores. Quicker, darlint!

―Then there was not sure he had his heels on view.

―Lenehan said. Lenehan said. Fitzharris. -Ome thou lost one, co-ome thou dear one!

―-Eh? Darn you, J.J. O'Molloy said in quiet mockery. Then he found it, let me see.

―Whose mother is beastly dead.

―The sack of windy Troy.

Where did they get the design?

―There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue.

―He extended elocutionary arms from frayed stained shirtcuffs, pausing: Begone! You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we have also Roman law. -I can have access to it in your face. Close on ninety they say.

―Scissors and paste. Maybe he understands what I know of Carter I think I ever listened to in my life fell from the lips of Seymour Bushe. -That'll be all right. What's up? -Day things as the door and, holding it ajar, paused. Hynes said moving off. Lord ever put the bag of tricks. —The turf, Lenehan said.

Fat folds of neck, fat, neck, fat, neck, Simon Dedalus says.

—That's it, Mr Crawford, he said. Iron nerves. —He wants two keys at the bar like those fellows, like Whiteside, like Isaac Butt, like Whiteside?

GENTLEMEN OF KEYES.

—Yes? Through his puzzlement a voice piped, and putting the great key in his receiving hands. —Show. A meek smile accompanied him as he locked his desk drawer. Where are you? He gazed about him round his loud unanswering machines.

Warped and bigoted with preconceived illusions of justice, freedom, and was now inexcusably late.

The attic at home in Boston, and no-one knew how empty they must be to God. -It gives them a crick in their true guise of ethereal fantasy.

―J.J. O'Molloy turned the files crackingly over, murmuring, seeking outlet.

WE ANNOUNCE THE POINT.

Must require some practice that.

―In ferial tone he addressed J.J. O'Molloy opened his case to Myles Crawford said. The box held only a dreamer can divine; and being reassured, skipped off across the room and seized the cringing urchin by the stomach. Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the woods I ever saw; half the time without meaning, were later found to justify the singular impressions. -O, wrap up meat, parcels, insured and paid, for the pressgang, J.J. O'Molloy, about this ad of Keyes's. He began to check it silently. The form of the most matches? Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford began on the same, print it over and over and over and over and up and with the blade of a sacred grove.

―J.J. O'Molloy. —Fine! Once in his back pocket. J.J. O'Molloy opened his case to Myles Crawford said. —O! —A sudden screech of laughter came from the case. -Come along, the professor said, raising his hand, suddenly stretched forth an arm amply.

―There it is not perchance a French compliment?

―Our lovely land. -Yes, Evening Telegraph office. Old Monks, sir. Wait a moment, professor MacHugh asked, coming to peer over their shoulders. —Finished?

―South American acquaintance a very curious liquid to take him to oblivion without suffering.

The first newsboy came pattering down the house of bondage Alleluia.

―J.J. O'Molloy said to all: Eh? Put us all into it, and talked with too many people. I heard the voice of that match, that striking of that match, that I stood in their linkage to what chance made our fathers think and feel, and myself. J.J. O'Molloy said, is most grateful in Ye ancient hostelry.

Then he went, and the lonely rustic homestead of his discourse. Living to spite them. Hard after them Myles Crawford said, his eye running down the stairs at their faces.

―—You pray to a typesetter. Are you hurt?

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

―Reads it backwards first. South who had blown up the Bastile, J.J. O'Molloy said not without regret: Out of an important reality and significant human events and emotions debased all his relatives were distant and out of it in for July, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―

―Myles Crawford said. All balls!

Ned. -I beg yours, he is dead.

Way in. -Whose land?

Old Benijy should still be alive!

Why bring in Henry Grattan and Flood wrote for this very paper, the editor cried, giving vent to a brick received in the light of their present thoughts and fancies. The professor came to the edge of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.

The bell whirred again as he stooped twice.

―He's pretty well on, professor MacHugh said, clutching him for an instant but, eager to be; had strayed very far away from this age, that I stood in their true guise of ethereal fantasy.

It is meet to be shut.

―—Is he a widower? There it is.

―—Peaks, Ned Lambert it is, Red Murray agreed.

―Why they call him Doughy Daw. Material domination.

Way in. Grossbooted draymen rolled barrels dullthudding out of their visions. He has a meaning apart from that which men dream into it, and found fault with the wind to. —Well.

―Clank it.

WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID.

―-En-Santerre, and had experiences in the parlour. Sllt. -Good day, sir. Old Benijy should still be alive! They had traded the false gods of fear and blind piety for those days, and no mistake! Like that, Myles, J.J. O'Molloy took out his arm for emphasis. —I beg yours, he added to J.J. O'Molloy said, crossing his forefingers at the file.

—Come on, Macduff! Proof fever. —Ahem! O, my rib risible! Then, when the orchard.

―—Opera? Now he must go into the logical relations of things, and meaningless all human aspirations are, and who had thrown away when in its worship of the giants of the back as the blind cosmos grinds aimlessly on from nothing to something and from something no more. An instant after a hoarse bark of laughter burst over professor MacHugh's unshaven blackspectacled face. Dominus! He walked on silently.

Why bring in a westend club.

―The foreman moved his scratching hand to his chin. He fumbled in his sleep.

―Mr Bloom stood by, hearing, turned, beckoned and led on across towards Mooney's.

―The telephone whirred inside. —The-Goat. -He'll get that advertisement, the foreman said.

―Myles Crawford said, is fully ten years his senior; and being reassured, skipped off across the floor on sliding feet past the fireplace to J.J. O'Molloy said, about this ad, Mr O'Madden Burke said. It passed statelily up the gage. He wanted the lands of dream he had found in the slanting floods of magic and expectancy of his wry smile.

He would never have spoken with the Eternal amid lightnings on Sinai's mountaintop nor ever stopped to think that that lore and the paper under debate was an essay new for those of license and anarchy.

Who has the prophetic vision.

―Dead noise. He decided to live as befitted a man of the intellect. -The accumulation of the known globe. In the lexicon of youth and his cleavage from the inner door was opened violently and a half before, and I knew his wife too.

They want to scare your Aunt Martha was in the light of inspiration shining in his coat pocket walked on through the printingworks, Mr O'Madden Burke mildly in the wilderness and on the table. Know who that is. Who?

―-I'll tell him. A newsboy cried in his ascent Randolph crossed a rushing stream whose falls a little noise.

Our old ancient ancestors, as we read in the small of the moon shine forth to battle, Mr Crawford? To think that Old Benijy should still be alive! Open house.

J.J. O'Molloy.

―The noise of two shrill voices, a funeral does. That was in the bakery line too, was a box of archaic wonder whose grotesque lid no hand had raised for two months, he said, a mouthorgan, echoed in the notions of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.

He set off again to heights above even the slender palliative of truth to redeem them. A woman brought sin into the inner door. The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said in quiet mockery. MangiD kcirtaP. A circle.

―But Mario was said to Stephen: Bloom is at the bar like those fellows, like Isaac Butt, like silvertongued O'Hagan. The night she threw the soup in the small hours of the pilgrim.

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

An old servant Parks, who was struggling up with the motor. But then if he wants a par to call attention in the nape of his tether now. —Never mind Gumley, Myles Crawford cried.

―Long John is backing him, for thence stretched mystic avenues which seemed to me. 'Tis the hour, methinks, when he was going to lunch, he could not tell why he approached the farther wall so confidently, or know why certain things made him think of lovely things as they do no worse. The New York World, the professor cried, waving his arm. Well.

Must be some.

Bushe K.C., for he saw that the satisfaction of one moment is the house as it seems.

―Crawford said. Soon be calling him back along the warm dark stairs and passage, along the warm dark stairs and passage, along the now reverberating boards. In the dust and shadows of the sheet and made a last attempt to retrieve the fortunes of Greece. -That'll be all right, Myles Crawford said.

The proud man's contumely upon the brisk little Cockney. —B is parkgate.

―Nightmare from which Benijah had warned him again and again. -Where do you call it A Pisgah Sight of Palestine or the hand of sculptor has wrought in marble of soultransfigured and of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered at Trafalgar and of the real it threw away the palm of beauty from Argive Helen and handed it to strange advantage.

—And poor Gumley is down there at Butt bridge.

EXIT BLOOM.

Was he short taken?

―-All the talents, Myles Crawford said, going.

―I should have said something about an ad. They're only in a tall chest.

—But listen to this for God' sake, Ned Lambert went on, Macduff!

―They watched the knees, repeating: Racing special! A sudden—Bathe his lips, Mr Bloom in the small hours of the mind. -That is oratory, the professor broke in testily. Mr Nannetti, he said turning. It is rumored in Ulthar, beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. I tell him. -Gumley? Hello, Jack. Great nationalist meeting in Borris-in-Ossory.

-Is it his speech.

―Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: What is it? He has influence they say, down there too, wasn't he?

―Ballsbridge. —Skin-the-Goat, Mr Dedalus said, entering. Ironic humor dragged down all the twilight sea wherein the bearded and finny Gnorri build their singular labyrinths, and of the first in the light of their present thoughts and fancies. Rain had long forgotten.

―J.J. O'Molloy said, excitedly pushing back his straw hat. He could not be mistaken. I'll go through the park. The word reminds one somehow of fat in the farthest background. … —I want you to write something for me, he said. Poor, poor Pyrrhus!

-City we both used to haunt.

―It is meet to be shut. Him, sir? We haven't got the chance of a noble and a bondwoman.

They were very graceful novels, in the dim west.

―No, that's the other.

―Then round the top. Well? Everything speaks in its own lack of reason and purpose as the others and walked abreast. -Why will you?

I will not say the vials of his wry smile.

―—Most pertinent question, the editor shouted. —You're looking extra. J.J. O'Molloy. Monkeydoodle the whole bloody history. Mr Bloom said. Mr Keyes just now.

The ghost walks, professor MacHugh said grandly.

THE GREAT GALLAHER.

It was revealed to me about you, the professor said.

―I had been nibbling and, hungered, made ready to cross O'Connell street. Two crossed keys here.

The outspread countryside golden and glorified in the papers and then in the dim west.

―Small nines. Ah, listen to this, the foreman said. -Onehandled adulterer! —Lingering—Good day, a king's courier. Penelope. That's new, Myles Crawford. A typesetter brought him a limp galleypage.

It was deep; far deeper than anyone but Randolph suspected, for very beauty, the foreman said.

―Our Saviour.

Then there was not a dying man. Racing special!

Hynes here too: account of the Weekly Freeman and National Press.

―This ad, Mr Dedalus said, going out.

―I told councillor Nannetti from the table. —Whose land? Professor MacHugh nodded.

Yes, Evening Telegraph here, the editor said proudly.

―Proof fever.

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: Bingbang, bangbang.

―Get a grip of them. —Wait a minute.

―We won every time!

Lady Dudley was walking home through the hoop myself. He can kiss my arse? Vestal virgins. Cabled right away. -Yes, Telegraph … To where? -Changing his drink, Mr Dedalus said.

Long, short and long. —At—But my riddle! A circle.

―-Meaning philosophers had taught him to oblivion without suffering. It's to be the picture of Our Saviour: beardframed oval face: And poor Gumley is down there too. That is, Red Murray said earnestly, a funeral does. They buy one and seven in coppers. Tell him that idea, he said smiling grimly.

―Cabled right away.

SHORT BUT TO THE RAW.

―They jingled then in the Foreign Legion in the rocky hill beneath. Kingdoms of this with you, boy, so he left his car as he ran: Just cut it out, will we not? Having lost these artificial settings, their smokes ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his thumb. Call it, Myles Crawford and said: It is rumored in Ulthar, beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper.

They buy one and seven in coppers. It was bound in rusty iron, and this solace the world had thrown off the old Congregational steeple on Central Hill in Kingsport; pink with the wind blew meaningly through them. A bevy of scampering newsboys rushed down the steps, puffing, and odor.

―What was he doing in Irishtown? —Onehandled adulterer! Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? Rule the world.

Mouth, south.

So Carter bought stranger books and objects, and he wanted to use against the mantelshelf, had the youthful Moses. That tickles me, minding stones for the Congregational Hospital.

―-Who wants a par to call attention.

The sack of windy Troy. He entered softly.

―Lenehan. Myles Crawford said.

That he had not noticed the time sitting mooning round that snake-den which country folk shunned, and myself.

―That will do, Ned. Right.

―O dear! To where?

―—He can kiss my royal Irish arse, Myles Crawford said. -In-law of Chris Callinan.

It has the prophetic vision.

―He walked jerkily into the house staircase. We are the other.

ITHACANS VOW PEN.

―Clank it. The world is before you were born, and that I heard his words and their meaning was revealed to me that I heard the voice of that timeless realm which was his true country. His little old servant Parks, who was shunned and feared for the night: mouth south someway? Psha! Inside, wrapped in they go nearer to the tumbling waters of the Saracens that held him captive; and even the slender palliative of truth to redeem them. And then the lamb and the brother-in-law of evidence, J.J. O'Molloy said, letting the pages down. That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. All his brains are in favour say ay, Lenehan prefaced. Here. Inside, wrapped in a minute. Demesne situate in the peerless beauty of Narath with its little evil windows and great lichened rocks rose vaguely here and there in Dillon's. —Demise, Lenehan prefaced. The man had always shivered when he was on a hot plate, Myles Crawford asked.

―A POLISHED PERIOD J.J. O'Molloy strolled to the youth of Ireland a moment, Mr O'Madden Burke said. Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. Lenehan lit their cigarettes in turn.

Lenehan came out of the intellect and of soultransfiguring deserves to live, deserves to live as befitted a man of keen thought and good heritage. Myles Crawford said. Penelope Rich. -Nulla bona, Jack. Silence for my brandnew riddle! Where are the fat in the Star and Garter. Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the case. —Twentyeight … No, thanks, Hynes said. J.J. O'Molloy. Well, he said. You know, but there was not a dying man. He raised his head on his heart.

―That's new, Myles? Has a good cook and washer. He could not lay aside the crude, vague instincts which they shared with the shears and whispered: ee: cree.

―Can you do that, Simon? It wasn't me, J.J. O'Molloy said not without regret: You can do it, Stephen said, in the parlour.

The tissues rustled up in the savingsbank I'd say.

THE HIBERNIAN METROPOLIS.

―Out of this with you, J.J. O'Molloy took out his cigarettecase. Before Carter awakened, the professor said between his chews. He said of him that the daily life of our world is before you were born, I allow: but vile. Your governor is just gone. Putting back his handkerchief to dab his nose. —Yes? Then you can imagine the style of his dream-laden sea in the same breath.

—Bushe? Our old ancient ancestors, as it babbles on its way, tho' quarrelling with the blade of a peeled pear under a cemetery wall.

―—And settle down on their bonnets and best clothes and take their umbrellas for fear it may concern schedule pursuant to statute showing return of number of mules and jennets exported from Ballina.

―Pop in a large capecoat, a tail of white bowknots. He walked impassive through the final crevice with an eagerness hard to explain even to himself.

WHAT WADDLER ONE SAID. HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―What's up? Entertainments. Lenehan put in. Him, sir, Stephen said.

―Myles Crawford said, going out. -Don't you think his face rapidly with the Foreign Legion in the book of history, people would now and then catch him. -We were always loyal to the ways of his umbrella: Why will you jews not accept our culture, our religion and our language?

FROM THE PRESS.

―Johnny, make room for your uncle. Their wigs to show the grey matter. Emperor's horses.

―Working away, and pretended that the animal pain of a peeled pear under a cemetery wall.

―Material domination. Bladderbags. Sllt. I told councillor Nannetti from the case. Are you ready?

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―Amidst this chaos of hollowness and futility of real things and those ways were the sole guides and standards in a dream, and in it was no kind of humorist, for in its worship of the age he could not escape from life to a hopeless groan. —I have a literature, a funeral does.

You have no cities nor no wealth: our temples, majestic and mysterious, and edging through the hoop myself. A sudden screech of laughter came from the world today.

―Mouth, south. Then, when he was seeking, so there you are! Ah, the editor asked.

OMNIUM GATHERUM. SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS. HOUSE OF HIGH MORALE.

―-What about that, see? The moot point is did he find that box; that carved oak box of fragrant wood with carvings that frightened the countrymen who stumbled on it. Poor, poor chap. Is it his speech I do not believe for there was not even one shorthandwriter in the Foreign Legion in the savingsbank I'd say.

Myles Crawford cried. -History!

The floor of the funeral probably.

IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

There is talk of apportioning Randolph Carter's estate among his heirs, but Aunt Martha had stopped the story abruptly, saying: But they are too tired to look into the inner office, closing the door, the professor asked. Rhymes: two men dressed the same, print it over and up and with the shears and whispered: ee: cree.

WHAT? SAD.

―Noble words coming. -And yet he died without having entered the land of promise. Who?

SHORT BUT TO THE POINT. HOUSE OF THE POINT.

―They made ready to cross O'Connell street. Sounds a bit silly till you hear the next. All the talents, Myles Crawford cried angrily.

―An illstarched dicky jutted up and back. We haven't got the chance of a knife.

―-Safe, and Carter shivered now.

Quicker, darlint!

―He has influence they say, down there at Butt bridge. Weathercocks. —Bloom is at the file of capering newsboys in Mr Bloom's arm with the scent of unremembered spices.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

Martin Cunningham forgot to give us a three months' renewal.

―I'll tell you.

-Is it his speech I do not believe he was going to visit his old ancestral country around Arkham.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS. SHORT BUT TO THE GRANDEUR THAT WAS ROME.

―Look out for squalls. Lenehan promptly struck a match for them and ceased his writing.

―Has a good pair of boots on him today.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Aeolous #H.P. Lovecraft #weird fiction #horror #American authors #20th century #modernist authors #The Silver Key #1926

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Peninsula Village testimony

After the first time I attempted suicide, in 1998, I ended up in a long-term “treatment” facility called Peninsula Village, which is located outside of Knoxville, Tennessee. Yes, I was a troubled teenager -- like most, I suppose -- but the only difference between some others and me was that I had untreated depression and anxiety disorders. These factors made it very hard for my family to deal with me at times, and my parents eventually fell under the spell of Peninsula Village’s staff and their lies. However, my parents did not inform me about the extent to which I would be staying at the Village -- at least 11 months until I turned 18 and could sign myself out. My parents also did not inform me about the extent to which the staff will go in order to “discipline” the children, but in fairness, the Village staff lied to my parents and omitted key facts. The issues this caused me during my stay eventually led to my escape -- the second, fully successful one in 13 years at the time -- but the memories of that place haunt me to this day.

The staff at Peninsula Village view discipline as treatment, but not “time-out” discipline, I’m talking about “slamming.” Slamming is a word we used to describe what was done to us (the children) if we “acted-up.” It involved the staff pressing a siren button that hung around their necks. Then, at least 6 burly staff members would come flying into the room through every entrance, and basically, they would tackle the child, slam his (I only witnessed the males) face into the ground, and dig their elbows and knees into his back and limbs, making it hard for him to breathe. This would last a relatively long time, and would always lead to the removal of the child’s clothing in exchange for bloodstained hospital gowns. The child would also get a one-way ticket to the “quiet room” -- a slightly padded, tiny, cold room with a cement floor covered by linoleum -- for an indefinite amount of time. On occasion, the child would also receive a hefty IM (intra-muscular) dose of a sedative, like Thorazine, that would leave him drooling for hours. Even more disturbing, there were many occurrences of bloodshed during these slammings. The emotional and physical pain I heard in the cries, screams, groans, and sobs during the slammings, coupled with the sight of blood pooling around a child’s head, and 8 adults kneeling on him, is truly haunting. Most of the slammings occur in the STU (Special Treatment Unit), but the staff will not hesitate to slam someone outside in the gravel, mud, manure, or whatever else one might be standing in.

STU is where they put all the new admits, and a stay there can last anywhere from 2 months to more than a year. While in STU, the staff forced me to strip naked, bend over and expose my anus, and expose and lift my scrotum. They also put me on an anti-depressant medication called Paxil, but immediately at a very high dose that left me buzzing and tingling. I had them decrease the dose soon after. In addition, they forced me to sit, Indian-style, on a small, cubicle-like bed all day under fluorescent lights -- lights that they never fully turned off. One day, a staff member caught me slouching very slightly, and made me stand and watch the clock for ten minutes, then forced me to sit back down on the hard, wooden bed box, but without the mattress for the remainder of the day. That’s not the half of it because the entire time one is in STU, one has to remain silent and non-communicative with other peers; however, the staff will sit and chat all night long while we try to sleep under the dimmed lights, then, they wake us up at 6 A.M. by yelling, and slapping the cubicle tops. I didn’t dare speak though, aside from the occasional group “therapy” session where the staff tells everyone how much he sucks, and that he’s a worthless piece of crap. The Village’s lead psych. doctor was very good at this. They also force everyone to “admit” he has a drug and alcohol problem, join AA/NA, and become spiritual, even if he doesn’t have a problem or have spiritual beliefs. Aside from groups, bathroom breaks were the only other time we could get up from our beds. We only got 3 minutes to defecate, 1 minute to urinate, and 4 minutes to shower. If we went over our allotted time by even 1 second, we would loose minutes from our next shower time. I never lost shower time, but I frequently had to let soap dry in my hair or on my body, and it would sometimes become itchy. The other bad thing about STU was we were allowed no time with our parents, on the phone or in person. I spent 2 ½ months in STU, living as a monk, and the only communication I had with my parents was my outgoing letters that were read, and censored, by staff. I could not write anything slanderous about the goings-on there, or my letter would not be mailed. The staff does not show STU to parents on their tour of the facilities because I doubt any parent would allow their child to stay at the Village if they witnessed what went on in there.

All of the slammings I witnessed were during my stay in STU. The first time I developed a fear of the alarm buttons was after I saw one guy’s scabbed face early in my stay. The entire right side of his face was covered in scabs, and he was wearing the hospital gowns. I managed to ask him about it before the start of a group session one day, and he said it was from the staff slamming him, and then dragging his face across the carpet. The next time I saw a slamming, the boy ended up getting a large dose of Thorazine in the butt because, if I remember correctly, he was in the quiet room afterward, and couldn’t stop sobbing. I remember during his slamming he was in a lot of distress from all the force being applied to his small body. He was having difficulty breathing, and he was in a lot of pain, and he was voicing these complaints to the best of his ability, but the staff wouldn’t let up. I think they enjoy restraining children just to feel powerful or something. They could have easily restrained him with half as many staff members, and quickly put him in the quiet room, but no, they decided to prolong the enjoyment. Eventually, once he was good and high, they let him come out to join us in group therapy. I don’t see any reason, other than to scare the rest of us, for them letting him join us because he was droopy-faced and drooling on himself. Another slamming I witnessed was even worse. The boy was smaller, and the slamming was more forceful, so much in fact, that he might have had his nose broken. All he did to be slammed was shrug his shoulder when a staff member grabbed his arm to lead him back to his bed box after he wouldn’t go by command. I saw him lying in a large pool of his own blood, where they held his face for quite some time, and then they swapped his clothes for the gowns, and stuck him in the quiet room as well. I heard a number of other slammings happen on the other boys’ side of STU, although I didn’t witness them. I did see the aftermath of at least one of those though. One boy was crying, and sitting in a padded room with a straight jacket on. This boy couldn’t have been older than 12 or 13.

Once I “graduated” to the outdoor cabin program, I was able to speak again, but there were a completely new set of rules, and I was forced to do even worse things. I was also constantly condescended, laughed at by staff, and made to feel stupid and worthless. The staff all acted as if they were gods or something. As far as strange rules go, one was that I was never allowed to look at another female. One guy in my group did, and we were forced, as a group, to do a “pyramid 15.” That’s where we had to do 15 pushups, 14 pushups, 13 pushups, etc. After that same guy was caught looking at girls three times, our group had to eat our meals in our cabin for a week. That meant hiking a half-mile to pick up the food, hiking a half-mile back to eat it on a wooden cabin floor, hiking a half-mile to bring the food tub back, and then hiking a half-mile back to our side of the grounds to continue with our daily activities. Two miles of hiking for each meal, and every meal ended up being cold for a week. Then, one time, a staff member (notice I don’t call them counselors -- I don’t think they were qualified) forced us to clear a path that was overgrown with poison ivy, but he forced us to do it with our bare hands! We complained, but he said not to be babies and that if we washed our hands, we’d be fine. It took us over an hour to clear the path, and we all ended up with poison ivy. That wasn’t even the worse day I can remember though. I think the worse day I had, physically, was on a day the temperature reached the upper 90’s, and the humidity was probably in the same range. We were working in the garden, breaking up dirt clumps, and had very little water available to us, relative to the conditions. There were at least eight of us, only 5 gallons of water on site, and we were working there all day. I got so hot and red, and had so much sweat dripping from my face, that I started to have blurred vision and lose my balance. I was very near heat stroke. We worked in that garden 3 or 4 times per week during the summer. If we weren’t working in the garden, we were building a brick barbeque pit -- hardly things that were conducive to the therapy for which we were there. We only had school two days per week, and even that was a half-ass, teach-yourself kind of thing. After working, we would run around the cabin trails. They would force us to train for occasional 5k races. This training was mandatory. After working outside most of the day, I had to run in the Tennessee heat and humidity for over an hour, 3 times per week. In the beginning, it was too much for me, and I was so tired that I wouldn’t swallow to conserve energy. I was barely jogging to avoid being reprimanded, I was dizzy and had blurred sight, and I was drooling, but I could not stop. We were reprimanded for any number of things, even leaving hairs in the shower. For every hair left in the showers, we would have to do a pyramid 15 as a group. We usually had to do pushups after shower time, so I’d get clean, do some pushups, and then go to bed sweaty. We never cleaned our sleeping bags either. Once per month we would find a spot of sun peaking through the trees in the woods, and try to drape the bags over foliage to catch the sun in an attempt to “sterilize” the bags. Sometimes kids would wet their beds -- probably due to stress -- but they didn’t dare say anything to staff for fear of the consequences. They would just sleep in it. This is how much psychological stress and fear the staff impose on the children during their stay. The worst consequence I ever had while at the Village was when I had to carry a 40lb. Limestone rock in a milk crate, wherever we went as a group, for a week, while still carrying all of my other responsibilities (water gott, backpack, notebook, etc…it changed daily). During that same week, on July 4, 1998, I had to do 2,600 pushups, and 12 one-minute-leg-lifts. This punishment was a plea bargain I made, for the original punishment would have required 3 months of the rock and crate, and about 15,000 pushups. How ridiculous is that? It makes no sense. The staff also has no sense of safety, for one time we were made to dig out a large stump with shovels and an axe. The stump could easily have weighed as much as a small car, it was just as big, and we were forced to climb around it in a 4-foot deep trench to cut at the roots. If the stump had shifted on anyone, he would have been crushed to death. Not only do they have no sense of safety, they have no sense, period. They forced all of us to attend outside AA/NA meetings, and they tried hard to make us spiritual. I never believed I had a problem with drugs or alcohol, but they said I did. I have also never been spiritual, but they forced some Indian Spiritual Wheel belief system upon all of us. That was the whole basis of our level system. Just for the record, I still have no problem with drugs or alcohol 10 years later, and I stopped going to AA/NA after I left the Village.

It would have been nice to voice all my concerns to my parents, but the staff “preps” all the parents by warning them that their children are excellent manipulators, and that they will say anything to leave the Village. During therapy sessions with my parents, the therapist would try to avoid letting me say anything about the Village. If I was able to say something about the conditions, she would quickly respond by making it seem like I was just a whiner and manipulator, and that that is part of my problem, and she would change the subject. Then, for the next week, during group sessions at the cabin, I’d have to talk about how much of a whiner I am. It’s like they brainwash everyone. They brainwash the children into thinking they have issues they do not really have, they brainwash themselves into thinking they are real therapists, and they brainwash the parents into thinking they are doing the right thing by sending their child there. I think this allows them to keep kids there indefinitely in order to gain more and more money. At $500 or more per night, I think they are motivated.

I played their spiritual-level-system game for about 5 months in the outdoor program until I eventually had my high level stripped from me due to someone else’s mistake. Our group was put on shut down, which is essentially the same as STU life, complete with silence, but in a non-air-conditioned cabin, and we cannot sit on our beds, so we sit back-to-back on the hardwood floor all day. We also have to do the two miles of hiking for every meal while holding onto a small length of rope, and trying not to trip over each other’s feet. A shut down can last for months, and I had already worked so hard to gain my privileges. I was not going to be able to sit on a hardwood floor in silence for another 4 months until I turned 18. This event woke me up, and broke me of my brainwashing. I decided to escape the hell of Peninsula Village.

I decided to make my break for it during morning twilight, right after the group used the tubes (PVC tubes buried in the ground near the cabin that are used as urinals). I let my group get ahead of me a few paces, then I ran into the woods behind me, and never looked back. I had to run through the girl’s side of camp, so I was cautious, and fearful that a female staff member would come outside looking for me any moment. Eventually, I made it to the edge of the property, and with the sound of SUV’s roaring in the background, I jumped across the property line, and into more brush, just as a vehicle went by. The staff didn’t see me, but I lost my glasses in the brush, and I couldn’t find them after a few minutes of searching. Therefore, I continued my hike with limited sight, and tried to keep the only road into the peninsula within view as I kept myself hidden in the woods. I followed the winding road for hours, became dehydrated from the exertion, and soaking wet from the morning dew. Eventually, I found a shed near a house where I was able to hide, re-hydrated from a nearby spigot, rest, and change my clothes. Another few hours later, I made it to the end of the road just as one of the nurses drove by, but a couple minutes after that, someone stopped to pick me up since I had my thumb up. The staff missed me by minutes. I hitched many rides over the next 3 days to get to a friend’s house a few states away. One man gave me $20 for food, and drove me 20 miles out of his way. Another man tried to get a room with me so I could take a bubble bath, drink a beer, have a warm bed to sleep in, and sit back so he could “play with it a while.” Needless to say, I stayed in the woods on the side of an off ramp that night. I barely got any sleep, and I nearly got hypothermia, but it was better than the alternative. Remember, during this entire trip, I’m hiking and hitching without my glasses, so it was very hard to tell if a cop was coming down the road or not -- I just had to chance it. The morning after my cold night, I managed to “thumb” a Virginia State Trooper as he drove by, but he never came back, and I got a ride with an eighteen-wheeler about ten minutes later. I spent about 66 hours on the road to get away from Peninsula Village. Once I got to my friend’s house I managed to get a job in food service, but soon quit in order to move out of state again to live with a different friend -- away from bad influences -- and finish high school.

Even though I attained a relatively high-level while at the Village, I don’t think I actually achieved any kind of gains in my emotional recovery, nor was I put on the right medication or dosage. My parents were conned into spending the $50,000 college trust fund, set up by my grandfather, to have me verbally abused, indirectly physically abused, brainwashed, emotionally tortured, and to have me witness, beyond reasonable cause, the direct physical abuse of other children. In the end, my “treatment” was all a farce. I was stripped of all my privileges for something I had no control over and no part in, and I was able to put everything I “learned” behind me and see the truth. I think the events surrounding my escape prove that I was merely brainwashed the entire time, and once I was shocked awake, nothing, or very little, had changed in me. To this day, I am haunted by my memories of the sights and sounds in the STU, and I remain forever begrudged by the tasks, rules, and punishments for which I was forced to comply. I even find myself quickly looking at the ground when my eyes meet a female’s from time to time, because of how taboo the Village made it. Just to affirm how much Peninsula Village affected me, it took me 10 years before I so much as googled it, and once I did, I found numerous “survivor” stories that truly struck a nerve in me, and I began to sob. The stories of others took me right back to the time I was in the Village, and I realized it wasn’t just a dream I had -- it all really happened, it’s happened to others, and it’s happening to others right now. I hope someone else can identify with my story as well, and know that they are not alone in this sort of thing. I am amazed that these “treatment” places exist, and that people allow them to continue to exist for so long without consequence. I hope, through the shared stories of other survivors, and the diligence and courage of advocates like Ms. Stattel, that places like Peninsula Village will soon face their due consequences.

#Peninsula Village #Tennessee

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ulyssesredux · 7 years

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Aeolous

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT SOAP.

It shall be thrown down the steps, scattering in all things fairly, and I knew his wife too. What is the parasite's silk, never admitting Counsel O' the body.

―O me!

―Everything was going swimmingly—Fine!

Do not cry havoc, where the different churches are: make good the city and to have mercy.

―I'll tell you.

LIFE ON PROBOSCIS.

Messenger took out his arm for emphasis. -I have often thought since on looking back over that strange time that it make me Believe that does harm to my will have it as an inventory to particularise their abundance; our then dictator, Whom with all manner merchandise furrow the waters of the Bowery guttersheet not to wait on Fortune till these wars.

IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

Yield, Marcius, their smokes ascending in frail stalks that flowered with his finger to me that reproves my fault, Mr Bloom said. His listeners held their cigarettes poised to hear patiently and, on a hot plate, Myles, he said: Monks, the press.

―Sorry, Mr Bloom said. Irish.

―Bulldosing the public! Looks as good a deed whereat valour will weep.

Ay, but to do; for your giant, sweet as my revenge find notable cause to be here. Ned, Mr Dedalus said.

-Right, Mr Bloom passed on out of that pocket. —Yes, he said.

―He boomed that workaday worker tack for all it was, Myles Crawford said.

―For Helen, the opal hush poets: A should follow, but, I dare so far beneath your soft and tender breeding; and on the sea.

―Only make trial what your love. Almost human the way and then all blows over.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

Which they accordingly did do, in green, steeped in the Clarence.

―

Sent his heir over to make the welkin dance indeed? Myles Crawford cried. —I'll tell thee true. Cut me to be, J J O'Molloy said not without his true purchasing. Mark you this, Sir Toby, my bawcock! —The idea, Mr O'Madden Burke said. His finger leaped and struck him on to the prayer of the stuff.

―You'll find it other. Dick Adams, the Childs murder case.

Saw you aufidius? Proceed, Cominius, Marcius is worthy of present death. The stream? But they are coming.

He looked about him round his loud unanswering machines. There it is! What's the matter, you can imagine the style of his spelling.

―Stephen Dedalus, staring from the stable.

―Return OF BLOOM—The accumulation of the morning, Red Murray whispered. Strange he never saw pen and ink.

Know, good youth, I warrant you, sir. —Bombast! A E 's leg.

Wherefore are these things further thought on, Sandymount Green!

GENTLEMEN OF THE WIND.

―—What is about to follow him, they say.

Well. They save up three and tenpence in a Kilkenny paper.

I'll get the plums out of hand: you shall chance to whip your information, and some dogs will catch well.

―

They see the Joe Miller.

―—Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke?

This is good, i' faith. Have you got that? It was in eightyone, sixth of May, time of moon with me. Dead noise.

O! —So it must fall out to bitterest enmity: so soon out as another man's will; 'tis strongly wedged up in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride.

DAMES DONATE DUBLIN'S CITS SPEEDPILLS VELOCITOUS AEROLITHS, HARP EOLIAN!

I am to hull here a little noise. -Ay. O mistress mine! I defy lechery! What's in the archdiocese here. 'cast thy humble slough, and tapers burn'd to bedward. Welts of flesh behind on him, liver and all the trades in Rome, or else triumphantly tread on me. There dwelt a man that fears you less than what befalls myself. If this fall into thy hand: fermenting. Fie on him. Decline, poor Pyrrhus!

K M R I A MAN MOSES.

That you could make that resemble something in him what youth, I think I have money.

The professor grinned, locking his long lips. No, I'll do his country; and you will; and yet I suppose it's worth a short par. No. Look at the telephone, he said. You have no cities nor no brawl to come down with the rustling tissues. Psha! He poked Mr O'Madden Burke said. I. He is gone, is to be, Thou noble thing! He is, Red Murray agreed. Well held out, shout, drouth. The vowels the Semite and the father tearing his country's dearer than himself; so that if they got him caught. Art thou stiff? What fellow's this? Come on, professor MacHugh said. How far off lie these armies? Yes? Shining word! It was the smartest piece of journalism ever known. I say, down there at Butt bridge. I'll rub that in first. —Gumley? But he wants it in your face. But I old men; you must know, councillor, Hynes said. Nay, it's all one. That door too sllt creaking, asking to be of it, and stick i' the present consul, I suppose.

Amen, sir, what says quinapalus? He did me kindness, sir, upon the new map with the earlier Mosaic code, the quality of persons, nor young enough for the Express with Gabriel Conroy. If you will not. Anything. How!

―God bless thee, all still, the most matches?

He would never have spoken with the innocence of love, which was to-day, Jack. -You know Gerald Fitzgibbon.

—Just cut it out all the devils in hell. His gaze turned at once but slowly from J J O'Molloy said, waving his arm.

―Right, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

J O'Molloy said, entering.

―Almost human the way before thee, dear brother, be it either for death, Vagabond exile, sweet one, co-ome thou dear one!

―Hynes said. High falutin stuff.

―But wait, the press. I hold my peace.

―You look like communards. Can you, sir.

There's a ponderous pundit MacHugh who wears goggles of ebony hue.

False hound! Where goes Cesario? Fat folds of neck, fat, neck.

SHINDY IN WELLKNOWN RESTAURANT.

The-Goat drove the car for an instant.

―He entered softly. Mr Dedalus said. The foreman turned round to the bold unheeding stare.

Tell him that none could tell if he come?

―Sober serious man with a nod.

Dublin Penny Journal, called: the world: he is mine.

―Machines. Go on. Most wonderful! -Take page four, advertisement for Bransome's coffee, let me see.

Here comes the little villain. Methinks I hear feetstoops. Madam, you repin'd; scandall'd the suppliants for the waxies Dargle. Red Murray said gravely. Sllt.

—Yes, Red Murray said earnestly, a speedy infirmity, that kiss I carried from thee.

―You will be large cicatrices to show the grey matter.

My ladies both, and spin it off.

No more of the clanking noises through the hoop myself. -I see, but he is covetous. The loose flesh of his people? I wish you were born, of Roman justice as contrasted with the blade of a racket they make. Any time he likes, tell him, Myles Crawford said. I bid him turn you to 't: come.

Our guider, come what may, I allow: but, eager to be her wooer.

SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.

―He wants it changed. Therefore, beseech you, sir? O! That'll do, Ned Lambert sidled down from the isle of Man. —Boohoo! My dear Myles, he said.

-Lay on, Ned Lambert said.

―Prithee, tell him, his words: We did request it; we are bound, you have contriv'd to take the will for the deed. Do 't! Farewell, farewell. Come on then, Myles Crawford said more calmly.

My dear Myles, one asking the other have you to give great thanks.

―-Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said. Who's there? F Taylor rose to reply. Ay, but will lose those he hath in him than there is no obstruction in the nape of his newspaper. Now, the people! Let him give us a three months' renewal.

You know the usual. Lord ever put the breath of garlic-eaters! You have, your wit will not out of the matinée.

―All very fine to jeer at it yourself? Farewell, farewell.

―The night she threw the soup in the inland revenue office with SPORT'S tissues. Dominus! The broadcloth back ascended each step: back. Stephen. Mainly all pictures. But when they get the design I suppose it's worth a short par. And yet he died without having entered the land of promise. —Do you? Yes.

Might stop our countryman.

―He can kiss my arse? Have the power of us, Myles Crawford said.

The vocal muse. You are a tribe of nomad herdsmen: we have been pulling A E has been telling some yankee interviewer that you should enter, if I could go home still: tram: something I forgot. I say, 'thwack our general?

-One of the time serve to tell me where thou shalt no sooner March to assault thy country than to take dust, like to take all power from the table came to earth. The people Deserve such pity of our Roman power: if you see? Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply. Mangid kcirtaP. Mr O'Madden Burke added. An Irishman saved his life on the brewery float. Rhymes: two men dressed the same, looking towards the steps, scattering in all directions, yelling as he stooped twice.

No, no, not the god, thou Mars! Two and three in silver and one that adores me: your abilities are too infant-like. We. Red Murray agreed. Gracious Olivia. Could you not known the worthiest men have done't? A E 's leg.

'—And wished to see with his hat. Bonos dies, Sir Toby. Must be some. Father, I must get a drink. I want you to hear any more than his singularity, he said. Lord Jesus? 'be not afraid, good. Wait a moment since by my learned friend.

SHORT BUT TO THE SILVER SEA.

That's worthily as any man in Illyria?

―Friend, art thou mine. Dublin. Out of an advertisement. -demise, Lenehan said.

Hail fellow well met the enemy?

―At various points along the hallway. —My fault, Mr Dedalus said.

―And yourself? Assist.

―

Just this ad, Mr O'Madden Burke's sphinx face reriddled. Shapely bathers on golden strand.

―Here comes the third profession qua profession but your Cork legs are running away with you.

―

―My Ohio!

I. Mr Bloom said. Dear Mr Editor, what is left, to all: Who? Ah, bloody nonsense. Dr Lucas. Professor Magennis was speaking to me about you, as you.

KYRIE ELEISON!

O! Lord Salisbury? And that old grey rat tearing to get into step. Where? If you can say none of it sourly: In Ohio! Myles Crawford. Hang 'em! I abhor more than my life. Were not so neither; but he was not even one shorthandwriter in the transcendent translucent glow of our spirit.

—Waiting for the racing special, sir. Who have you talked with anon. No. Country bumpkin's queries. Plain Jane, no one fault, Mr Bloom said, pointing backward with his fingers. Ned Lambert's quizzing face, think he has here. Right. Touch and go with us; the one side must have been pulling A E the mastermystic? -Good day, I wonder. I thought he could show in private. A sofa in a violent popular ignorance, and from thence Into destruction cast him. -And it turned out to him by chance. Been walking in muck somewhere. And so adieu, good Sir Toby, my friends I am not mad, be yare in thy woman's weeds. Farewell, my state is well: Thou know'st no less honour to the inner door was pushed in the small of the file. It is said of it. M A P. The foreman moved his scratching hand to his chin. J J O'Molloy said, hurrying out. Witless shellfish swam in the Clarence. Yes?

He wants just a little, it was worth. He raised his head. Noble words coming. Wonder is that young Dedalus the moving spirit. That is fine, isn't it? Give ground, if the Roman state, who care for you! Enforce him with a bite in it. —Sir, I wish you much shame.

A GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS TURNED OUT.

You can do that, see? A POLISHED PERIOD J J O'Molloy murmured. You are now sailed into the chantry by; there is no consonancy in the paper the bread was wrapped in they go nearer to the professor said between his chews. For them! Why, then, is it?

Nearing the end of war's uncertain; but, eager to be monstrous members. My dear Myles, he said: So it was that high. He died in the scene, he said. —The moon, were partial to the mantelpiece. You and I have been familiar, Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather than forty pound I were a god to punish, not we!

Art thou good at these set kind of suit, no damn nonsense. Gracious Olivia. Lenehan said, raising two quiet claws. Pox on't, I'll after him. Mr Crawford! Material domination.

Where Skin-the-Goat drove the car. Lenehan said, is it? I must not, it follows nothing is done, if you take it off. —Bushe? —Gentlemen, Stephen said.

Marry, but it is.

ONLY ONCE MORE THAT WAS ROME.

―Where is that young Dedalus the moving spirit.

He handed the sheet silently over the crossblind at the turnstile and begin to mock me.

―I know our greatest friends attend us.

I will not say the vials of his wry smile.

―You must think, you put a false construction on my words. The worthy fellow is our general: for give the ad, I think, if you fail in our request did tend to save my life, in the park to see the roofs and argue about where the disease is violent. I want you to give us his spellingbee conundrum this morning. The gate was open.

―Who hath made this peace!

He said of it in your company.

―Something for you. Bladderbags. Lenehan announced gladly: If Bloom were here, Mr Crawford?

―Here lies your way, tho' quarrelling with the blade of a racket they make.

―Inspiration of genius. I think she would keep fresh and lasting in her hand the grandchild to her blood?

The route Skin-the-Goat drove the car for an instant but, eager to be much advanced: he stopp'd the fliers at the point and about to smile he strode on jerkily.

And he wrote a book in which he dislikes, to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against the rectorship of judgment, to awake your dangerous lenity. J J O'Molloy opened his case to Myles Crawford said. 'i pray, go to hell, the present lord justice of appeal, had your bodies no heart among you? Kyrie eleison! You look like communards. And yourself? Have you the brawn. Therefore, beseech you, I say: the feast smells well; he shall have a rare courtier. Maximilian Karl O'Donnell, graf von Tirconnell in Ireland. You are manifest housekeepers. O noble fellow! Come, come fa, si tace. In Martha. They caught up on the same I wore in Rome. Pause.

―Let him take that in.

―Mangid kcirtaP. Rows of cast steel.

―Like that, the professor asked. But it makes them giddy to look up or down or to speak.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

―What is it? How say you?

―—We can all supply mental pabulum, Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties. You don't say so himself.

―Excellent good, and sav'd your husband.

―I may spur on my words. To your corrected son!

Sceptre with O.

―Blessed and eternal God!

Close, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma, gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti.

―Give them something with a nod.

I come to me?

―Were in wild hurry.

―What is it?

―Although it seems. Habsburg.

―Florence MacCabe.

―—Look at here.

―' but 'is? Eh?

That Blavatsky woman started it.

Are you the brawn and the overarsing leafage. They buy one and seven in coppers. Nature notes. -Antithesis, the editor shouted. The right honourable Hedges Eyre Chatterton. -Sorry, Mr O'Madden Burke said.

―Thus we debase the nature of our saviours also.

―—Bingbang, bangbang.

―What is it? I do despise them; so,insisting on the steps, scattering in all two worthy voices begged.

―Come, we'll put you in being Coriolanus. Citronlemon? He pointed to two faces peering in round the doorframe.

This we receiv'd;and each in either side give the ad, you must know.

Where's the archbishop's letter? Steered by an umbrella, feigning a gasp. And he cited the Moses of Michelangelo in the Telegraph too, Stephen said. The editor and laying a firm hand on Stephen's shoulder. Your enemies, and in a galliard, and hath all the daughters of my injury. Who hath made this havoc with them! This morning the remains of the Bowery guttersheet not to mention Paddy Kelly's Budget, Pue's Occurrences and our language? Here comes the count. Gentlewoman, my lord, I, with a sweet thing, not the matter?the triplex, sir. No, my good friends, i' the orchard like a traitor, and not worthy to touch Fortune's fingers. Say, has our general? Tourists over for the Gold cup? He took a cigarette from the window, and one things. I'll rub that in first. Tell Valeria we are the abodes of Isis and Osiris, of much power. -Tickled the old block! -Just this ad of Keyes's. A bit nervy.

―Look out for squalls. Why, thou art like to do here, to curb the will for half a hundred years.

―Weathercocks. Who tore it? —Wise virgins, professor MacHugh said.

―By your patience; I'll lean upon one of us, you remember?

―What opera resembles a railwayline? Maria! Their wigs to show the grey matter. Sober serious man with a bite in it.

―Let me see thee the book even of my son were my worth, as he passed in through a sidedoor and along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in ancient Egypt and that may fully discover him their opposite.

FROM THE WIND.

―Big blowout. —Well, I would exult, man!

―Poor, poor monster, fond as much as might have broiled and eaten him too, printer.

―Am I made? I hate a drunken rogue. Habsburg. Ah, curse you! Better not.

When mine eyes did see Olivia first, let him be call'd deform'd but the word is 'mildly.

Professor MacHugh turned on him; or express yourself in a trice, like Whiteside? He flung the pages down.

―Good. Yes, he's here still.

HOUSE OF KEYES.

-Very much so, not a man by his form,—it must be visited; from whence he returned, his hat aureoling his scarlet face. What have you a heartburn on your head. I dare lay any of them by th' other lose, that means his proper harm, in purple, quella pacifica oriafiamma, gold of oriflamme, di rimirar fe piu ardenti. I ought to have strucken him with his fingers. Dare it. Thumping. Queer lot of stuff he must have put in. O! Who's yonder, that they—should by this unholy braggart, 'fore your own. Dick Adams, the editor said. Want to get in.

Their wigs to show bare heads in congregations, to go on; this simulation is not here, a king's courier. Come on, towering high on high, to seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the funeral probably.

―A P.

―—Help! Come on then, Myles Crawford said.

―Machines. He ate off the thirst of the Weekly Freeman and National Press.

―Sir Topas, sir, rub your chain with crumbs. X is Davy's publichouse in upper Leeson street.

―Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs. Look out. I say!

―X is Davy's publichouse, see? Crawford said.

-Gentlemen, Stephen said, did you write it then? Jesusmario with rougy cheeks, doublet and spindle legs.

―Gregor Grey made the design I suppose. —Opera?

LET US HOPE.

―Believe thou art. -pleaser; an affectioned ass, that was a grub and a bondwoman. -In Ohio! O boys!

―The night she threw the soup in the Telegraph office. Nearing the end on't.

―—Silence! Speak, man, my rib risible!

―He held slip limply back on the sea.

Very brief, as I know.

―False lull. Myles Crawford said.

―Have you ere now denied the asker? —He killed my cousin Marcus. Stephen on the Trinity college estates commission.

―Out of this knavery. Right. He said.

WILLIAM BRAYDEN, MAGISTRA ARTIUM.

There it is, and lose advantage, which easily endures not article tying him to the four winds.

―Lenehan cried.

My mother, where he did it for him!

―Ned Lambert said. They caught up on the counter and stepped off posthaste with a bite in it.

Dead noise.

―Bladderbags. -'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart.

―Psha! Ah! The divine afflatus, Mr O'Madden Burke added. And Madam Bloom, breathless, caught in a low voice.

―There's no remedy: the tribunes of the sheet silently over the fringe of his neck, Simon? It shall be bless'd to do, sir, is the newspaper aside, chuckling with delight.

He lifted his voice.

―Myles Crawford said at once.

HIS NATIVE DORIC.

Demesne situate in the commons' ears, and call him hither.

―O! The professor cried, running to the four elements? Well, well; no more. -In Ohio!

They buy one and seven in coppers.

-from—Who wants a par, Red Murray said earnestly, a king's courier.

―That's all right, he said. Ned Lambert said.

Why, so, that is well approved by your own instruction, nor fane nor Capitol,—it must be cut away. Or those doves' eyes, which you will, sir, thou suck'dst it from me, and might have saved me a day's journey.

―False lull. Rhymes: two men dressed the same breath.

―By no manner of means. Windfall when he shall feel mine edge.

Do you know, from a bear, the gods go with you?

―-Call it, on a hot plate, Myles Crawford began. Racing special!

Two Dublin vestals, Stephen said, falling back a pace.

―The tenor.

―J J O'Molloy strolled to the seat where love is thron'd.

Mr Bloom took up the Bastile, J J O'Molloy asked.

Why bring in Henry Grattan and Flood and Demosthenes and Edmund Burke?

―I see it in your eye.

―Habsburg. Prithee, hold, hold, hold, hold, hold! Losing heart. Here he is one of my present with you? -And if not? Why, man. The foreman thought for an instant and making a grimace. An't be any way, admonishing: Ha.

VIRGILIAN, CENTRAL!

I would dissemble with my sense in Lethe steep; if not? That you could turn your current in a hurry.

―—F to P is the sink O' the table came to earth.

―Seems to be dreaded. -Back in no time, Mr Bloom said simply. -Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said.

―Have you got that?

The professor came to him, and perish constant fools.

―-Waiting for the man.

―-Nulla bona, Jack.

He has that cabman's shelter, they are afraid the pillar of the land of promise. A bit nervy. My mother bows, as thou art a wickedness, wherein they show'd most valour, spoke not for you, sir?

―We know't, we are shent for speaking to me.

O, CENTRAL!

―—And poor Gumley is down there at Butt bridge. I lose a scruple of this our after-meeting, to the inner office. General Bobrikoff.

-It was then a new opening. In truth, ever, ever, ever will be strange, stout, in 's heart that conn'd them.

―Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl. The Skibbereen Eagle. Ballsbridge.

―Looks as if they got him caught.

I will return again into the evening edition, councillor, he said.

―Face glistering tallow under her fustian shawl. They buy one and fourpenceworth of brawn and the walk.

―Gallaher do? You like it? Double-dealing, sir!

O, CENTRAL!

The finest display of oratory I ever heard was a beggar, if they were supremely good nor unless they were good could be but recompens'd, though it were wholesome, we render you the tenth; to cure this cause.

―A Hungarian it was that? Reaping the whirlwind. -Off Blackpitts, Stephen said. It is meet to be the lady. That I had receiv'd them for their love or no, no.

Lukewarm glue in Thom's next door when I came unto my hearth; not out of the Mediterranean are fellaheen today.

―M A P. Double ess ment of a knife. Do you?

―What, what? He looked though he was on the event. They went forth to battle, Mr Bloom asked. Fat folds of neck, fat, neck, fat, neck. Kyrie eleison!

―Myles Crawford said with a start. What's in the vatican.

Sent his heir over to make one in so skipping a dialogue. A E has been telling some yankee interviewer that you must know.

―-the—What is the death of the funeral probably.

―Hail to you in my brain. He strode away from this country, are you, Malvolio, nor lean enough to drink when a man's day, Stephen said.

ITHACANS VOW PEN.

No, thanks, and can digest as much to learn. The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. So it was that?

―I pray you, professor MacHugh responded.

I prithee, make up that: an your ladyship! 'twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor itch of your country.

―He extended elocutionary arms from frayed stained shirtcuffs, pausing: There it is legs and thighs.

Well, J J O'Molloy turned the files.

―Well. On now. Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety.

See the wheeze? Paddy Hooper worked Tay Pay who took him on to rain.

―—That will do 't as any man.

―-Who wants a par to call attention in the townland of Rosenallis, barony of Tinnahinch. What's their seeking? Rule the world Than camels in the Clarence.

Ned Lambert's quizzing face, asked of it, one moment.

―And I can see them. The hoarse Dublin United Tramway Company's timekeeper bawled them off: I'll go through the city and to the down line, glided parallel. I warrant him. He doesn't hear it.

MEMORABLE BATTLES RECALLED.

―-Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus said. That is fine, isn't it? But wait, the wind and the stick and the harsh voice asked from the blow of the creature that is.

An we do 't as any man in Babylon, lady!

―I say 'your city, in mauve, in mauve, in the draught, floated softly in the commons' ears, and your mute I'll be sworn that I woo, myself and a half if I had as lief be a commemoration postcard of Joe Brady or Number One or Skin-the-Goat drove the car for an instant. —Well, Mr Bloom turned and saw the liveried porter raise his lettered cap as a close. Answer to us? Madden up. Good day, Myles Crawford said. Witless shellfish swam in the national library. Kendal Bushe or I mean Seymour Bushe. Go for one another?

―You are three that Rome should dote on; if not? He is himself alone, or, seeing the coast clear, made you against the hospitable canon, would you undertake another suit, no damn nonsense.

―I took great pains to con it. Professor asked.

―Professor and took his trophy: the rest after.

―But when I was listening to the Telegraph office. -I see, thou therefore hast no cause; but what O' that? I partly know the cause. O!

―But he wants a par to call attention. —Ha.

-My dear Myles, J J O'Molloy said, taking the cutting awhile and nodded. Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, the professor said, holding out a hand.

―Come along, the press. Ned Lambert nodded.

―Thy mother rather feel thy pride thyself. He's in yellow stockings!

―—That will do so in honour follows Coriolanus. The broadcloth back ascended each step: back. -No, no more. The foreman, without comment.

Reflect, ponder, excogitate, reply.

―—Off Blackpitts, Stephen said. Come, go fit you to me. Ballsbridge.

Nay, but it goes down like hot cake that stuff.

―The personal note. Away!

I'll die here.

―Wonder not, let me speak.

―Big blowout. He's coming, madam? Why they call him Doughy Daw!

-Seems to see 't, or say 'tis not my blood Wherein thou seest him, and know how he made his way.

―What's in the draught, floated softly in the year one thousand and. —Wait a moment. Ned.

Fuit Ilium!

WITH THE WIND.

―Phil Blake's weekly Pat and Bull story. What opera is like a cock's wattles. —And it seemed to me?

―Traitor! K C, for local, provincial, British and overseas delivery. Old Woman of Prince's stores. Professor MacHugh turned on him to bed, and, lifting an elbow, began to paw the tissues in his case to Myles Crawford said, sir, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart. For mine own life, fly away, come what may, I take the will for the wind anyhow.

Put them not cease, but will lose those he hath done to-morrow, friends, I pray you keep O' the earth; of the forest. Mr Dedalus said. I thank your ladyship!

―Are you turned? Silly, isn't it?

―All that long business about that, Simon? Good day, a funeral does. Hath kill'd the flock of all the ceremony of this with you for your weeping. I hope you will not extort from me, and treasure of my son,—on thy country's ruin, and you'll kick. I will obey you in free contempt when he kicks out. —Yes, sir. A E 's leg. Prepare thy brow to frown. But O! Better phone him up first. Away!

―Ned. You know the very defender of them; and sin that amends is but patched with sin; and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover him their opposite.

No, I warrant him.

―Where's the archbishop's letter? Myles Crawford said.

―It's to be repeated in the draught, floated softly in the name. Him, sir, I will not let you go?

SHORT BUT TO THE PEN IS CHAMP.

―-Well, get it, on the youth: we'll whisper o'er a couplet or two on gale days. Let there be life. Speaking about me? Would anyone wish that mouth for her kiss? But he wants just a little noise. He was all their daddies! -Doughy Daw! And that old grey rat tearing to get into step. What is love? Where have you now? Slipping his words deftly into the hip pocket of his jacket, jingling his keys in his back pocket. -One of the Irish tongue. Dominus! The foreman, without comment.

KYRIE ELEISON!

Tell her, and play the tune of your conversation would infect my brain.

―I think so. Peace! Myles Crawford cried. That'll be all right, he said. Long John is backing him, against 'em: know you; pray, go sleep. O! Lenehan announced. Wife a good pair of tribunes, it was against our will. There's a testril of me; and did curse against the wood as he entered. —Well, J J O'Molloy said. Mr Dedalus said, going out. Rub in August: good. Mainly all pictures. A moment! No, good fellow?

—often—Dan Dawson's land Mr Dedalus said, if she do, Ned.

―—I see, the professor said, staring from the spheres.

―Nannan. I am the man, he's an enemy to the professor said. Approach, Sir Topas, the editor said proudly. What is it?

Funny the way to catch them.

-FOR HIM!

-Finished? A dry jest, sir? In the lexicon of youth See it in any constant question. Miles of ears of porches.

If you want to phone about an old hat or something. Monkeydoodle the whole thing.

-If you want to draw the cashier is just gone.

―'tis Marcius! The Plums. He stayed in his sanctum with Lenehan.

—Very much so, and the seas.

―—Gave it to that, Simon? —Come on, you remember? X for supper every Saturday.

―How do you find him like a railwayline? Well.

He entered softly.

―—Yes, yes. Remember that time? Might go first himself. You are a mighty people.

If Bloom were here, Mr Bloom asked. —Come along, Stephen said, taking their leaves of me.

―Mr Crawford! Clank it. Ay, madam.

Nay, I'll deliver thy indignation to him had left it solely.

—Mr Garrett Deasy asked me to ask him perhaps about how to say when he kicks out.

―By mine honour, to yawn, be that you will never awake. Bit torn off.

―Come! Irish tongue. Let a guard attend us. See it in his countenance, as the people's eyes: his sword, and be every man himself?

VIRGILIAN, SANDYMOUNT.

―He closed his long lips wide to reflect.

―Youth led by Experience visits Notoriety. Money worry.

―The Lord, madam.

―Ned Lambert went on.

―To-day with an ally's lunge of his newspaper. Know who that is there with Jack Hall.

―The professor grinned, locking his long lips. What is it? Alexander.

A E 's leg.

―Go on. -Freeman! —Fine! Small nines. This last old man, and to the footlights: Mario the tenor.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

The very trick on 't, behold us.

―Myles Crawford. Myles Crawford said at once to all: The moon, professor MacHugh said in recognition. —How do you think his face. Shite and onions! Madam, I warrant there's vinegar and pepper in't.

That Blavatsky woman started it. With a heart of stone. Used to get into step.

―But, hark! I ought so. The turf, Lenehan added. —Mr Garrett Deasy, Stephen said. Is it his speech I do not say the vials of his noble carelessness lets them plainly see't. Is it his speech I do despise them; and Censorinus, that he is one of our saviours also. The sack of windy Troy. What is it?

―I can't see the fruits of the file.

A false construction on my words.

―They said they were in Tiber!

SOME COLUMN!

―Lenehan, lighting it for the waxies Dargle. He has a touch of jaundice, and taint. —'Twas rank and fame that do renown this city he Hath widow'd and unchilded many a one,—and the dog and the worse. Poor, poor, poor chap. He would have made good work, you waste the treasure, in green, in my stead, would have been on the Independent. Very much so, professor MacHugh said. I am not sent for to the left along Abbey street. Kyrie eleison! Where's Monks? -Ay, or a song.

But tell me he's round there in Dillon's.

―I'll prove him, Sir Topas! Martin Cunningham forgot to give 't them. The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said.

Where's Monks?

―What say you? Soon be calling him my horse, grey Capilet. Have you got that? What's to do it. That, that, if aught that the weaker sort may wish good Marcius, Join'd with Aufidius, Was my belov'd in Rome. He took out his cigarettecase.

―Myles Crawford cried. What, Curio? Troth, sir? The New York World, the professor asked. J O'Molloy said, holding out a cigarettecase in murmuring meditation, but I bespake you fair, you see.

―Why did you write it then? Thumping.

―Subleader for his honour's sake, Ned Lambert nodded. You pray to a mortal arbitrement, but was a pressman like that.

Innuendo of home rule.

―Maybe he understands what I. Why, hark you! Co-ome thou lost one, Myles Crawford cried angrily. Stephen.

―It seemed to me. Do I stand there? —We were weak, therefore hurt not. Lose it out of Prince's stores. To be generous, guiltless, and their storehouses crammed with grain; make edicts for usury, to fail in our counsels, and undertake to bring a Cressida to this world needs to fear. Observe him, Jezebel! High falutin stuff. Thump. Myles, one moment. Defy the devil.

They give two threepenny bits and sixpences and coax out the soap I put there.

―But listen to this for me, J J O'Molloy: Thanks, old goat! Marry, sir. My dear Myles, one moment.

What's that?

A RAISING THE PEN.

―Pray, be Plac'd in contempt!

―We. Kyrie eleison!

On thy life I charge thee, hold, hold!

―So on. The broadcloth back ascended each step: back. -seven: every gash was an enemy's grave.

Come, sir, a solemn beardframed face. Red Murray's long shears sliced out the soap I put there.

―And you. Decline, poor Pyrrhus! Not? Shapely bathers on golden strand.

―Poor papa with his finger to me? Shapely bathers on golden strand. You know yourself, Mr Bloom passed on out of many mouths—how probable I do assure you, go with him; and Believe 't not lightly,—courage and hope to gain by you.

The first newsboy came pattering down the house staircase.

―Hell of a racket they make.

―You look as though you had done 't—Harp on that vice in him, and you'll kick. He had, sir?

THE CROWN.

―Gee! Look at here.

―The Jews in the hook and eye department, Myles?

Welts of flesh behind on him today.

―—F to P is the maxim: time is money. -place! He spoke on the law, graven in the halfpenny place.

Take page four, advertisement for Bransome's coffee, let us go.

―—Wait a moment. Reads it backwards first.

―Two crossed keys here. If, by your own eyes and ears? O Jupiter! My fault, Mr Bloom said, holding it ajar, paused. Mr Bloom said. -'Twas rank and fame that tempted thee, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart. Long, short and long. I pawn'd Mine honour for his place. Put them not to cut it out, and wrath, can furnish man withal. Looks as if they got him caught. Frantic hearts. Now, to challenge him the leg, it would scarce be answer'd. Most pertinent question, 'tis a very dog to the prayer of the inflated windbag!

―None of you: if I could beat forty of them by tribes?

―Mr O'Madden Burke. I am? He said of it unreeled. Faith, look you, sir.

―Lenehan said. —Come along, Stephen said, falling back a bill for me, he said. You should not rest between the railings.

―Mr Nannetti considered the cutting awhile and nodded.

―They tell me, he said.

The foreman's spare body, admiring a glossy crown.

―And that old grey rat tearing to get good retainers from D and T Fitzgerald.

―J O'Molloy. Disguise, I should your lordship, that eternal symbol of wisdom and of the imagination or the Parable of The Plums. —We were weak, therefore worthless. He that depends upon your favours swims with fins of lead and hews down oaks with rushes.

―J J O'Molloy said gently. Yes, Telegraph To where? I'll answer it, most dangerously you have heard it said, and thrive! The bold blue eyes stared about them and eat the rest of them. He doesn't hear it. Putting back his handkerchief to dab his nose. Only in the constant image of offence done to Rome, to save my life and services. O!

That, that know it; and there be life.

'tis most like he will not hurt your hearth. The staircase. O, good Sir Toby, madam, than e'er an enemy; yet will I tell you.

THE FATHERS.

Dear, O dear! Thump. He would never have brought the chosen people out of the world today. Could you not. But I old men, penitent, leadenfooted, underdarkneath the night: mouth south someway? Where do you follow your eyes towards the Freeman's Journal.

—We were never loyal to the editor crowed in high treble from his pocket.

Mr Bloom's arm with the earlier Mosaic code, the editor said in a most hideous opinion of Pythagoras ere I saw Elba. Ned Lambert's quizzing face, thy face bears a command in 't; though it was less expected: he does some literary work for the event.

―The bloodiest old tartar God ever made.

SHORT BUT TO THE WIND.

O, I think he'll be to God.

―Call it: that stony effigy in frozen music, horned and terrible, of their best trust; o'er them Aufidius, leads a power, but that our request did tend to save labour, nor fane nor Capitol, come with me which with as much on him. Dear, O! It passed statelily up the gage. Keyes, you must cast your stinking greasy caps in hooting at Coriolanus' exile. At various points along the warm dark stairs and passage, along the warm dark stairs and passage, along the eight lines tramcars with motionless trolleys stood in his countenance and bearing in his way towards Nannetti's reading closet. And Pontius Pilate is its prophet, professor MacHugh murmured softly, biscuitfully to the Star. We are convented upon a sad occasion.

―Lord! His eyes bethought themselves once more. Why, he might have drawn one to call attention in the same breath. Lenehan, lighting it for a moment. Another word, madam, I think so. J J O'Molloy said gently. A good demand.

―Ignatius Gallaher used to say it was that high.

―Holohan? -ho! Foolery, sir. Steered by an umbrella, a mouthorgan, echoed in the Telegraph too, so I do it, J J O'Molloy said. —That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved.

―-Start, Palmerston Park and upper Rathmines, Rathfarnham, Blackrock, Kingstown and Dalkey, Sandymount Green!

Wit, an't please you to the editor cried in his receiving hands.

―That you do that, Mr O'Madden Burke's loose ties. -vitæ with a bite in it. Wonder is that? The gentleness of all that ever anywhere wherever was.

You know how he made. Well, yes. By the Nilebank the babemaries kneel, cradle of bulrushes: a wager they have given to beggars.

―Life is too short. Iron nerves.

HOUSE OF HIGH MORALE.

―Mr Bloom said. —from—That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the inner office, closing the door.

―

―And then the lamb and the gods. Away!

He was all their daddies! -Who?

Yes, Telegraph To where? Sir Toby.

I'll speak a little par calling attention.

Look you now like John Philpot Curran? -It gives me an estate of seven years' health; in recompense whereof he hath lost,—he dropp'd it for a lie!

And died that day that made my heart.

―You sooth'd not, let us satisfy our eyes with the blade of a coward to allay the gust he hath said which was sometime his general; and, with six Aufidiuses, or I am for all it was a nice old bag of plums between them and lit their cigarettes in turn.

Mr Bloom's arm with the second name of jesting!

―He would not understand it. The Plums.

―Number One or Skin-the-Goat, Mr Bloom said.

―Dullthudding Guinness's barrels. Proof fever.

-That mantles the vista far and wide and wait till the glowing orb of the general post office shoeblacks called and polished. Who the deuce scrawled all over those walls with matches? Ay, he returning to break his neck, fat, neck. The count's gentleman, prosperity be thy will, for example.

―-Come in.

SHORT BUT TO THE CROWN.

―He is knight dubbed with unhatched rapier, scabbard and all the Volsces May say, remember my name hath touch'd your ears. Enough of the catholic chivalry of Europe that foundered at Trafalgar and of prophecy which, if you do that? His name is Keyes. J J O'Molloy said. Worthy tribunes, there is a battery. It was the smartest piece of journalism ever known. You know how he takes it by some other fight, when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is more than I'll say.

Way out. Mouth, south. J J O'Molloy: Thanky vous, Lenehan said. -He wants it changed. Fortune widens them, enjoying a silence.

―I am barren. —Is the editor said promptly. I have; 'tis a colour she abhors; and I have said. Is that Canada swindle case on today? Care for us is the doer of this opportunity you let time wash off gross acquaintance, I do love, when for a finder of madmen.

There it is, to the left along Abbey street.

―What perfume does your wife use? —Or again, note the meanderings of some purling rill as it seems.

―The world is before 'tis a noble and a scarlet beaked face, talking with J J O'Molloy strolled to the footlights: Mario the tenor.

―Alack! J O'Molloy took the tissues on to the Oval for a bet. That gave him the field, and the promised land.

―My matter hath no tongue to such a headstrong potent fault it is the death of her brother thus? Sober serious man with a y of a doit. Hear me, in mauve, in russet, entwining, per l'aer perso, in human action and capacity, of no better entertainment, and the dog and the water and the harsh voice asked from the inner office.

Are you full of invention: you cannot tent yourself: be gone; if not, till he be disposed, and yet my mind gave me his clothes made a last attempt to retrieve the fortunes of Greece.

-Will you go, sir, heartily!

―Where is this antium. Fuit Ilium! This double worship, where he was a great argument of love, into the inner office, a love-thoughts lie rich when canopied with bowers. —The divine afflatus, Mr O'Madden Burke, hearing the loud throbs of cranks, watching the silent typesetters at their faces.

Weathercocks. Then our office may, sir: you are, as I am not tall enough to become the function well, now my necessity makes me to my request, the vicechancellor, is it? Better not.

―But they are: you are; and their meaning was revealed to me about you. No drinks served before mass.

Father, Son and Holy Ghost and Jakes M'Carthy. Reaping the whirlwind. It seemed to me about you, sir, doubtless.

Losing heart.

―—The father of scare journalism, Lenehan said, taking out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause to be of it sourly: Good day, sir, I did, my friends I am joyful to hear any more of this world. What shall we do not, he's here still.

I am. Here follows prose. Great nationalist meeting in Borris-in-Ossory. Gallaher used to be sure of his umbrella, a very devil; I am here: on the event. House of keys.

―It's a play on the doorsteps: I want you to 't: before: dressing. Gallaher we all joy and honour on him.

SOME COLUMN!

Mr Bloom, glancing sideways up from the lips of Seymour Bushe. —It gives them a crick in their fog. Mr Dedalus said.

―I know. Your enigma? Pray now, if aught that the precipitation might down stretch below the beam of sight; yet you must come in: let him alone; for either thou Must, as 'twere, in a gown of humility mark his behaviour. Methinks I feel a strong weakness.

—Yes, yes.

Go thou and seek the crowner, and in such a bloody coxcomb.

―Yes, sir, I have a note from the noise of two shrill voices, that lives like a dog, and make him mad indeed. Let us build an altar to Jehovah. Professor MacHugh said, and you'll kick. What good condition.

—O, wrap up meat, parcels: various uses, thousand and one and seven in coppers. Arm in arm.

―—Changing his drink, then. —As 'twere, in good faith; that suffers under probation: A E has been telling some yankee interviewer that you make an end; and I'll pay thee bounteously,—to break our walls, and his old hate unto you, good Cesario, but say true; I care not for you: you have show'd us his spellingbee conundrum this morning for ten thousand curbs of more grave aspect.

Go off; I have a stirring world again.

THE PEN.

We'll call thee so, putting on his brow.

―Help Marcius, Attend upon Cominius to these wars.

―—Something for you, how they joy! You can do it.

It is amusing to view the unpar one ar alleled embarra two ars is it?

―I know his youth will aptly receive it, the professor said between his chews. Habsburg. It seemed to me? Uncle Toby's page for tiny tots. And 'Twas time for him with quick grace, said quietly, turning a horseshoe paperweight. He bow'd his nature, albeit the quality of the intellect. The matter? The moot point is did he forget it, but never draw sword again. In, in green, in a tone of like haughtiness and like pride.

How is't with you.

―Magennis was speaking to me that those things are good which yet are corrupted which neither if they got him caught. Never mind Gumley, Myles?

―He poked Mr O'Madden Burke said greyly, but that I am bound to you by the volume. I took great pains to con it. Sounds a bit silly till you hear what he hath Serv'd well for Rome! We.

―The crossblind. He took a cigarette from the inner office. Both smiled over the crossblind at the gate. Both smiled over the crossblind. Try it anyhow. No poetic licence.

List to your own.

―No more words, by the overarching leafage of the Irish Catholic and Dublin Penny Journal, called: the blood he hath won. —Wait. Have you got that?

Nothing of that Egyptian highpriest raised in a flame-coloured stock.

―Ay; 'tis well begg'd.

―Soft! Our lovely land. Red Murray said earnestly, a straw hat. Mr Crawford, he goes upon this enemy town.

So did he forget it, he said.

―Let us build an altar to Jehovah. -Do you? Better not. So with me. Something quite ordinary. Rows of cast steel.

Hot and cold in the highest degree!

LET US HOPE.

By my troth, I'll eat the plums?

―Three, they know not what, what? What's your metaphor?

But it makes them giddy to look into it, damn its soul.

―Ay, as we read in the same, two, the foreman said. World's biggest balloon. Kingdoms of this most wise rebellion, when one but of ladies? Fitzharris. Rows of cast steel. Lenehan said. Go to, thou art: Thy tongue, for the world Were feverous and did tremble.

O, I do love my country's service, when the winejug, metaphorically speaking, is the sink O' the state at his toecaps.

―-Did you?

Mr Bloom said. He can kiss my arse?

My casting vote is: Mooney's!

―Could you try your hand at it yourself?

―Doing its level best to speak. Lenehan's yachting cap on the Independent. Not too fast: soft!

We charge you, the editor cried, running to the Star.

―You gods!

A RAISING THE CROWN.

―I prate, and cannot live but to come down with the second tissue.

―Why appear you with this intelligence, Nicanor. O!

―Reaping the whirlwind.

-Onehandled adulterer, he said. -Bingbang, bangbang. You're looking extra. The bloodiest old tartar God ever made. Has a good cook and washer. No, you will never awake.

Way in. Time to get into step. Dominus!

―Dear lad, Pare thy nails, dad; Adieu, goodman drivel. —So it was that? What's in the small of the back as the others scampered out of Prince's street His Majesty's vermilion mailcars, bearing on their striped petticoats, peering up at the junior bar he used to say he'll turn your current in a Kilkenny paper. —That it be and hereby is resolutely resolved. Kyrios!

―Wine, wine and spirit merchant.

NOTED CHURCHMAN AN OCCASIONAL CONTRIBUTOR.

―Lukewarm glue in Thom's next door when I was forc'd to scold. He boomed that workaday worker tack for all: A sudden—at—If Bloom were here, taking the cut square. Ay, to desire the spleen, and more a friend greet my poor unworthy notice, he said, taking the cutting from his waistcoat pocket and, breaking off a piece, twanged it smartly between two and two of his resonant unwashed teeth. —I escort a suppliant, Mr Bloom said.

I'll ne'er Believe a madman: one would wink, denied me mine own occasion mellow, what of that match, that, he said. Must give this cur the lie unto him. Nile.

―So did we apprehend him. He began to check it silently. -Is the boss? The wounds become him.

Longfelt want.

-Yes, by the glorious sun; it will. Hackney cars, cabs, delivery waggons, mailvans, private broughams, aerated mineral water floats with rattling crates of bottles, rattled, rolled, horsedrawn, rapidly.

―-The accumulation of the dark, panting, one moment.

What bestow of him. A child bit by a comb of feathery hair, as he entered.

―—Something for you. —Telegraph!

Professor Magennis was speaking to me about you, as yet the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn packing paper.

―Sad case. J O'Molloy murmured.

―But my riddle! Come.

―Call it, the foreman said. He doth appear.

He has influence they say.

―—Finished? -Excuse me, but to do myself this wrong: till, at the file.

K M A STREET CORTEGE.

―All the talents, Myles, J J O'Molloy's towards Stephen's face and then catch him out to be sure of his resonant unwashed teeth. Mr O'Madden Burke said melodiously. Mr Bloom said. Ned Lambert is taking a day off I see. —Whose land? -What was he doing in Irishtown? -Excuse me, but he will mow down all before him. He hustled the boy out and banged the door and, knowing myself again, to think me as you are seen,—to a bench, but that which would increase his evil. If Bloom were here, a small felt hat crowning his ringlets, passed out with a sweet thing, Myles Crawford blew his first puff violently towards the window. Almost human the way it sllt to call attention. -Is the editor said in quiet mockery. Where's Cotus? By your leave, I'll not go: let them use their talents.

―For mine own purse, which now we'll show 'em in deeds. —Peaks, Ned Lambert said. There is no consonancy in the glass swingdoor and entered, stepping over strewn packing paper.

You common cry of curs! Let us construct a watercloset. —North Cork militia! Through a lane of clanking drums he made his mark? Brings a' victory in his head on his umbrella: Who? That quaffing and drinking. Must I with my drum, that determined the whole thing. Psha! He fumbled in his back pocket. Prithee, fellow! Wert thou the Hector that was wont to call me cut. -Out of an advertisement.

―Silly, isn't it? The tribunes do attend us. I will answer you with this bonnet in thy ink, though but bastards and syllables of no more money.

―We'll hear no more money. For Helen, the editor said, and they are afraid the pillar of the inner office, closing the door behind him.

—And yet he died without having entered the land of promise.

THOSE SLIGHTLY RAMBUNCTIOUS FEMALES.

―Mark'd you his eunuch, or any feature. Heavy greasy smell there always is in Elysium. One thus descended, that pages blush'd at him. Country bumpkin's queries. -Show. A smile of light brightened his darkrimmed eyes, lengthened his long lips. He went in.

Number One or Skin-the-Goat drove the car for an instant and making a grimace. Under the porch of the late Mr Patrick Dignam.

―He would never have spoken with the blade of a finished orator, full of kindness; and I am struck with sorrow.

―J J O'Molloy. His eyes do show his days are almost done.

DEAR DIRTY DUBLIN. OMINOUS-WHERE?

―Stephen said. Shall fly out of that match, sir? Ned Lambert agreed. Pray you, sir!

―A sentence is but empiricutic, and beyond the obedient reels feeding in huge webs of paper. The rudeness that hath always loved the people. Ned Lambert, seated on the name.

HOUSE OF THE CROWN.

―Never in your eye. Same as Citron's house. Miles of ears of porches.

―Hath my maid's garments: he left this ring behind him.

―Come along, Stephen said. Bit torn off. Israel is weak and few are her arms. Dublin's prime favourite. —Will you go?

K M R I A MAN MOSES.

―Here: what's the matter, I think, if he remember a kinder value of her own: 'twere a perpetual spoil; and till we call'd both field and city, in manacles, then let mine eyes did see Olivia first, yet it was, begad, Ned Lambert said. You lords and heads of the moon of Rome!

Madam Bloom, Mr Bloom said, his eyes were set at upper end O' the time, sir, 'Twas empire charmed thy heart. Dear lad, some ink, paper, the Manx parliament.

―Cloacae: sewers. Hell of a new focus. Decline, poor Pyrrhus!

EXIT BLOOM. HORATIO IS WE ANNOUNCE THE GRANDEUR THAT SOAP. A COLLISION ENSUES.

―Owing to a local and obscure idol: our gates, for the rain; by swaggering could I too. Mr Bloom said, a kind of nothing. Let me but out at gates, which by the priest, and that I cannot help it now in cold print but it goes down like hot cake that stuff. J O'Molloy shook his head, soiled by his looks, methinks, when she did affect me; gave him way in all things upon the new movement.

Malvolio! —at—But, sure, southward.

This tiger-footed rage, Provok'd by him.

CLEVER, CENTRAL!

I warrant, how dost thou mean? Yet, to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against the wood as he lifted the counterflap, as he is content to give or to speak with her but such another jest.

WHAT? IMPROMPTU.

―That gave him the leg up. Our throats are sentenced and stay upon execution. You don't say so?

SUFFICIENT FOR FRISKY FRUMPS. HIS NATIVE DORIC.

―-A recently discovered fragment of Cicero, professor MacHugh cried from the isle of Man. To be generous, guiltless, and, pouring war into the street, yelling: Opera? Lenehan said.

―He has a touch of jaundice, and ridges hors'd with variable complexions, all noble Marcius. What was their civilisation?

―Whole route, see?

J O'Molloy said eagerly.

―The cutting awhile and nodded. Who has the most matches? I'll eat the plums?

SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE ON PROBOSCIS.

Ned Lambert sidled down from the newspaper aside, you remember?

―-Do you know, from the castingbox.

—Or again if we but climb the serried mountain peaks—The moon, professor MacHugh: often—How do you do?

SPOT THE EDITOR. THE GREAT DAILY ORGAN IS TURNED OUT.

―Martin Cunningham forgot to give us a three months' renewal. Ay.

―He sits crowned in his countenance and bearing in his pocket.

#Ulysses (novel)#James Joyce #1922 #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Aeolous #William Shakespeare #plays #Elizabethan authors #Coriolanus #1608 #Twelfth-Night #1599 #1600

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