Re Joyce (James) O happy days Ireland does re joyce A gnol a devol a nur reviv Upfinnegan w/ (s)laughter He hung up St Jimmy O’Sinner of Dublin, O fella no Bloom- Ing flower, petals crushed In Molly’s coddled bed His ruptfirm godlike (Ya, H C E) Twicer he hollowed onaphone Linguefiction’s penman is Shaun to a quill, Sing T, even stephen She Anna runs along the river lippy yes now Here she comes here comes everybody Now Is yes

Dreams, Memories, Visions Of life as a ‘story of the self-realization of the unconsciousness’ ... p. 17 Digging up bones and a little light in fog ... pp. 104, 107 Walking through a valley to hand a goddess an umbrella ... pp. 155, 161 § Of trees as the embodiments of life’s incomprehensible meaning ... p. 86 The bitterness of Freud and the analogy with God ... pp. 75, 175 A white dove transformed into the ghost of a customs official ...

Cryptic The scent of a foreign newspaper in the morning: New ink on old investments and trades. While down in Berlin, the autobus returns to the depot. The driver wraps himself in a scene of noise and oil. The last of the rain is falling in spores, another plague. The bailiff, off duty, knows that trees take time. No ordinary articles in the universe's inventory. Get rid of more, of it all, he says. This is a career, Not a hobby. Have a snack, an apple, it's a hard fruit. No