Benny Bunter
Well-known member
Definitely COTD - we managed to cancel it and the fucker came back from the dead!
It occurred to me as I was reading Cyclops how rancorous a portrait Joyce paints of Dubliners, not all Dubliners but the insiders, whether that be the ignorant racist drunks cadging money off Jewish moneylenders and then blaming them for it, or the Theosophists with their windy abstractions demanding fealty to hoary old Irish myths. It's interesting how Ulysses really just extends on Dubliners and a Portrait, but of course stylistically is just in another universe, in part because he opens up the inner thoughts of his Dubliners, granting Stephen great intellectual powers and Bloom an artistic imagination and great stores of compassion and curiosity.what it does so well is the horror of other people, how intolerable the presence of other people is, how much we truly hate them.
Which bit had theosophists?It occurred to me as I was reading Cyclops how rancorous a portrait Joyce paints of Dubliners, not all Dubliners but the insiders, whether that be the ignorant racist drunks cadging money off Jewish moneylenders and then blaming them for it, or the Theosophists with their windy abstractions demanding fealty to hoary old Irish myths. It's interesting how Ulysses really just extends on Dubliners and a Portrait, but of course stylistically is just in another universe, in part because he opens up the inner thoughts of his Dubliners, granting Stephen great intellectual powers and Bloom an artistic imagination and great stores of compassion and curiosity.
When he's in the pub, he's talking about them, I think?Which bit had theosophists?
Formless spiritual. Father, Word and Holy Breath. Allfather, the heavenly man. Hiesos Kristos, magician of the beautiful, the Logos who suffers in us at every moment. This verily is that. I am the fire upon the altar. I am the sacrificial butter.
Dunlop, Judge, the noblest Roman of them all, A.E., Arval, the Name Ineffable, in heaven hight: K.H., their master, whose identity is no secret to adepts. Brothers of the great white lodge always watching to see if they can help. The Christ with the bridesister, moisture of light, born of an ensouled virgin, repentant sophia, departed to the plane of buddhi. The life esoteric is not for ordinary person. O.P. must work off bad karma first. Mrs Cooper Oakley once glimpsed our very illustrious sister H.P.B.'s elemental.
O, fie! Out on't! Pfuiteufel! You naughtn't to look, missus, 185so you naughtn't when a lady's ashowing of her elemental.
"In the darkness spirit hands were felt to flutter and when prayer by tantras had been directed to the proper quarter a faint but increasing luminosity of ruby light became gradually visible, the apparition of the etheric double being particularly lifelike owing to the discharge of jivic rays from the crown of the head and face. Communication was effected through the pituitary body and also by means of the orangefiery and scarlet rays emanating from the sacral region and solar plexus. Questioned by his earthname as to his whereabouts in the heavenworld he stated that he was now on the path of pralaya or return but was still submitted to trial at the hands of certain bloodthirsty entities on the lower astral levels. In reply to a question as to his first sensations in the great divide beyond he stated that previously he had seen as in a glass darkly but that those who had 247passed over had summit possibilities of atmic development opened up to them. Interrogated as to whether life there resembled our experience in the flesh he stated that he had heard from more favoured beings now in the spirit that their abodes were 271equipped with every modern home comfort such as talafana, alavatar, hatakalda, wataklasat and that the highest adepts were steeped in waves of volupcy of the 219very purest nature. Having requested a quart of buttermilk this was brought and evidently afforded relief. Asked if he had any message for the living he exhorted all who were still at the wrong side of Maya to acknowledge the true path for it was reported in devanic circles that Mars and Jupiter were out for mischief on the eastern angle where the ram has power. It was then queried whether there were any special desires on the part of the defunct and the reply was: We greet you, friends of earth, who are still in the body. Mind C. K. doesn't pile 301it on. It was ascertained that the reference was to Mr Cornelius Kelleher, manager of Messrs H. J. O'Neill's popular funeral establishment, a personal friend of the defunct, who had been responsible for the carrying out of the interment arrangements. Before departing he requested that it should be told to his dear son Patsy that the other boot which he had been looking for was at present under the commode in the return room and that the pair should be sent to Cullen's to be soled only as the heels were still good. He stated that this had greatly perturbed his peace of mind in the other region and earnestly requested that his desire should be made known.
Assurances were given that the matter would be attended to and it was intimated that this had given satisfaction.
John Eglinton, frowning, said, waxing wroth:
— Upon my word it makes my blood boil to hear anyone compare Aristotle with Plato.
— Which of the two, Stephen asked, would have banished me from his commonwealth?
Unsheathe your dagger definitions. Horseness is the whatness of allhorse. Streams of tendency and eons they worship. God: noise in the street: very peripatetic. Space: what you damn well have to see. Through spaces smaller than red globules of man's blood they creepycrawl after Blake's buttocks into eternity of which this vegetable world is but a shadow. Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.
Creation from nothing. What has she in the bag? A misbirth with a trailing navelcord, hushed in ruddy wool. The cords of all link back, strandentwining cable of all flesh. That is why mystic monks. Will you be as gods? Gaze in your omphalos. Hello! Kinch here. Put me on to Edenville. Aleph, alpha: nought, nought, one.
How many! All these here once walked round Dublin. Faithful departed. As you are now so once were we.
Besides how could you remember everybody? Eyes, walk, voice. Well, the voice, yes: gramophone. Have a gramophone in every grave or keep it in the house. After dinner on a Sunday. Put on poor old greatgrandfather. Kraahraark! Hellohellohello amawfullyglad kraark awfullygladaseeagain hellohello amawf krpthsth.
What he does very well is register the pressure exerted by other people, their sweaty faces pressed against the glass of your self...
How insinuating and devious they are, prying into the hidden corners of your self, probing for weakness, weaselly, wanting to know just what they can get away with, what angle they can work on you, exactly where your soft spots are
Overbearing people, how they suffocate you, big plump rumps planted square on your face, blocking your mouth and nostrils,stately, plump, establishing a tyranny of jovial bumptious hail fellow well met bit back slap enjoying watching you cringe, shrink into yourself, knowing, ha, I've got you now
If I was you I'd give up at this point and pick up In Parenthesis by David Jones, it's a riveting read.Finished "Circe" today, my god that was a slog.
The end is now in sight.