Pages

Monday, September 16, 2013

Page 11

Assigned reading (1½ paragraphs [] plus 192 notes) [secondary] [McH]

2DV: "She never comes out when Thon's there or show or when Thon's a flash with Thon's tindergiris or when Thon's blowing thonders on Thon's gaelaboys. Her is be too moochy afeerd I do veer. Now she comes, a peacefugle, picking here, pecking there - - - Pussypussy plunderbussy, it all goes into her nabsack & she borrowed the coach lamp to see. Cartridges & ratlin buttins & nappy boots & flags of all nations & clavicurds & scapulars & piles of pennies & brooches with breeks in em & maps & keys & the last sigh that came from the heart & the first sin the sun saw. She brings us her presents from the goneaway past how there'll be eggs for the brekkers come to mourning. For where there's a gale find the gall & wherethen a hind seek the hun." (none of this quite qualifies as 'first' draft)

If she needs a lamp, has night fallen on the battlefield?

"who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun"

There are some ten allusions on this page to an important early vignette called "The Revered Letter" that ended up on pages 615-619. [Fweet] It seems to embody the most important feature of the ALP archetype: she forgives HCE his sin.

[♬ the Syghes that Come from the Heart]

[FDV] "Dear. And we go on to Dirtdump. Revered. May we add majesty? We have frankly enjoyed more than anything those secret workings of natures (thanks even for it, we humbly pray) and was really so denighted of this lights time. Yon clouds will soon disappear looking forwards at a fine day. Whereupon our best thanks to a hundred and eleven ploose one thousand and one other blessings will now conclude thoose epoostles to your great kindest for all at trouble to took. We are all at home for ourselfsake, that direst of housebonds, whool wheel be true unto loves end so long as we has a pockle full of brass. Impossible to remember persons in improbable to forget position places. Who would pellow his head off to conjure up a particularly mean stinkerlike Foon MacCrawl? brothers, mystery man of the pork martyrs? Conan Boyle will push the daylights out through him, if we are correctly informed. One must simply laugh. Fing him aging! This ought to wake him to makeup. The big bad old sprowly all some uttering foon! His fooneral will sneak pleace by creeps o'clock toosday. Don't forget. The grand fooneral will now shortly occur. Remember. The remains must be removed before eight hours shorp. With earnestly conceived hopes. So help us witness to this day, to hand in sleep. Of Mayasdaysed most duteoused. Well, here's lettering you erronymously anent other clerical fands alleged herewith. How about it? Our shape was much admired from the first. Referring to the Married Woman's Improperty Act a correspondent paints out that the Swees Aubumn vogue is hanging down straith fitting to her innocenth eyes. O, felicias coolpote! If all the McCrawls would only handle virgils like Armsworks, Limited! Never mind Micklemash! Chat me instead! The cad with the pipe's wife, Lily Kinsella, who became the wife of Mr Snakers and the kissing solicitor, will now engage in attentions. Pale bellies our mild cure, back and streaky ninepence. The thicks off Bully's Acre was got up by Sully. And she had a certain medicine brought to her in a licenced victualler's bottle. Shame! Thrice shame! We are advised the waxy is at the present in the Sweeps hospital and that he may never come out. Only look through your leatherbox with P.C.Q. about 4.32 full view to Lily and a lady very solicitously on the sofa kissing and looking into a mirror. That I was treated not very grand when the police and everybody is all bowing to us. Item, we never were chained to a chair and, bitem, no widower whithersoever followed us about with a fork on Yankskilling day. Meet a great civilian (long lives to him!) who is as gentle as a mushroom when he always sits forenenst us for his wet while to all whom it may concern M.G.'s from all he drunk though he is a rattling fine bootmaker in his profession. Would we were herewith to lodge our complaint on Sergeant Laraseny who does be with the corner up of Levers Lane on Katheyeen MacFoullane in consequence of which in such steps taken head would be constably broken by a Nollwelshian which has been oxbelled out of crispiamity. Well, our talks are coming to be resumed by polite conversation with a huntered per cent human over natural bestness of pleisure after his good few mugs of four ale and shag. While for whoever likes that urogynal pan of cakes one apiece it is thanks, to beloved, to Adam, our first Finnllater, for his beautiful crossmess parzel. Well, we simply like their dumb cheek wagging here around he being that bothered by the fallth of hampty damp. Certified reformed peoples are saying to quite agreeable deef. Here gives your answer, pigs and scuts. It is another he what lives under the himp of holth. The herewaker of the fame name is his real namesame who will get himself up erect, confident and heroic when but, young as of old, a wee one woos. Alma Livia Poolabella."

[0:47-2:49]

I.1: 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

1 comment:

  1. The three of crows have flapped it southenly,
    kraaking of de baccle to the kvarters of that sky
    whence triboos answer: Wail, 'tis well!
    She nivver comes out when Thon's on shower
    or when Thon's flash with his Nixy girls
    or when Thon's blowing toomcracks down the gaels of Thon.
    No nubo no! Neblas on you liv! Her would be too moochy afreet.
    Of Burymeleg and Bindmerollingeyes and all the deed in the woe.
    Fe fo fom! She jist does hopes till byes will be byes.
    Here, and it goes on to appear now, she comes,
    a peacefugle, a parody's bird, a peri potmother,
    a pringlpik in the ilandiskippy,
    with peewees and powwows in beggybaggy on her bickybacky
    and a flick flask fleckflinging its pixylighting pacts' huemeramybows,
    picking here, pecking there, pussypussy plunderpussy.
    But it's the armitides toonigh, militopucos,
    and toomourn we wish for a muddy kissmans to the minutia workers
    and there's to be a gorgeups truce for happinest childher everwere.
    Come nebo me and suso sing the day we sallybright.
    She's burrowed the coacher's headlight the better to pry
    (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun)
    and all spoiled goods go into her nabsack:
    curtrages and rattlin buttins,
    nappy spattees and flasks of all nations,
    clavicures and scampulars,
    maps, keys and woodpiles of haypennies
    and moonled brooches with bloostaned breeks in em
    and boaston nightgarters and masses of shoesets and nickelly nacks
    and fodder allmicheal and a lugly parson of cates
    and howitzer muchears and midgers and maggets,
    ills and ells with loffs of toffs and pleures of belles,
    and the last sigh that come fro the hart (bucklied!)
    and the fairest sin the sun saw (that's cearc!).
    With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross.
    Undo lives' end. Slain.

    How bootifull and how truetowife of her,
    when strengly forebidden,
    to steal our historic presents from the past postpropheticals
    so as will make us all lordyheirs and ladymaidesses of a pretty nice kettle of fruit.
    She is livving in our midst of debt and laffing through all plores for us
    (her birth is uncontrollable!),
    with a naperon made to mask and her sabboes hikkikking arias (so sair! so solly!),
    if yous ask me and I saack you. Hou! Hou!
    Gricks may rise and Troysirs fall (there being two sights for ever a picture)

    ReplyDelete