Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes. Signature of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before them of the coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, <em>maestro di color che sanno</em>. Limits of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it, it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.
Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. You are walking through it howsomever. I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the <em>nacheinander</em>. Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality of the audible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the <em>nebeneinander</em> ineluctably. I am getting on nicely in the dark. My ash sword hangs at my side. Tap with it: they do. My two feet in his boots are at the end of his legs, <em>nebeneinander</em>. Sounds solid: made by the mallet of <em>Los Demiurgos</em>. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? Crush, crack, crick, crick. Wild sea money. Dominie Deasy kens them a'.
On Wed, Jun 16, 2010 at 7:24 AM, Doug Henwood <dhenwood at panix.com> wrote:
> Stately, plump Buck Mulligan...
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