StephenDedalus
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Lank coils of seaweed hair around me, my heart, my soul. Salt green death. We. Agenbite of inwit. Inwit's agenbite. Misery! Misery!
7:54 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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She is drowning. Agenbite. Save her. Agenbite. All against us. She will drown me with her, eyes and hair.
7:54 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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@ -- Here. It's all right. Mind Maggy doesn't pawn it on you. I suppose all my books are gone.
7:53 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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Show no surprise. Quite natural.
7:53 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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I take the coverless book from her hand. Chardenal's French primer. @ -- What did you buy that for? To learn French?
7:52 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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My eyes they say she has. Do others see me so? Quick, far and daring. Shadow of my mind.
7:52 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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I told her of Paris. Late lieabed under a quilt of old overcoats, fingering a pinchbeck bracelet, Dan Kelly's token. Nebrakada femininum
7:51 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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A Stuart face of nonesuch Charles, lank locks falling at its sides. It glowed as she crouched feeding the fire with broken boots.
7:51 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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@ -- What are you doing?
7:51 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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Dilly's high shoulders and shabby dress. Shut the book quick. Don't let see.
7:50 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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What is this? Thumbed pages: read and read. Who has passed here before me? Who wrote this?
7:50 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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Tattered pages. I might find here one of my pawned schoolprizes. Stephano Dedalo, alumno optimo, palmam ferenti.
7:50 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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In Clohissey's window a faded 1860 print of Heenan boxing Sayers holds my eye. I turn and halt by the slanted bookcart.
7:49 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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I go down Bedford row, the handle of the ash clacking against my shoulderblade.
7:43 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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where they swirl, I. Shatter them, one and both. But stun myself too in the blow. Shatter me you who can. Bawd and butcher were the words.
7:43 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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Throb always without you and the throb always within. Your heart you sing of. I between them. Where? Between two roaring worlds
7:43 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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Orient and immortal wheat standing from everlasting to everlasting.
7:42 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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And you who wrest old images from the burial earth? The brainsick words of sophists: Antisthenes. A lore of drugs.
7:42 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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Where fallen archangels flung the stars of their brows. Muddy swinesnouts, hands, root and root, gripe and wrest them.
7:42 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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leprous and winedark stones. Born all in the dark wormy earth, cold specks of fire, evil lights shining in the darkness.
7:38 AM Jun 16th, 2010
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