Paa lickam laa lickam, apl lpa! This it is an her. 1 Their Rôle. You see her it. Which it whom you see it is 2 her. And if you could goaneggbetter we’d soon 3 see some raffant scrumala riffa. Quicks herit 4 fossyending. Quef! So post that to your pape 5 and smarket! And you can haul up that languil 6 pennant, mate. I’ve read your tunc’s dimissage. 7 For, let it be taken that her littlenist is of no 8 magnetude or again let it be granted that Doll 9 the laziest can be dissimulant with all respects 10 from Doll the fiercst, thence must any what- 11 youlike in the power of empthood be either

me, look at that now! I don’t know is it your 4 spictre or my omination but I’m glad you 5 dimentioned it! My Lourde! My Lourde! If 6 that aint just the beatenest lay I ever see! And 7 a superpbosition! Quoint a quincidence! O.K. 8 Canine Venus Omnius Kollidimus. As Ollover Krumwall 9 sublimated to sayed when he slepped ueber his grannya- 10 Aulidic mother. Kangaroose feathers. Who in the name 11 Aphrodite. of thunder’d ever belevin you were that bolt? 12 But you’re holy mooxed and gaping up the 13 wrong palce2 as if you was seeheeing the gheist 14 that stays forenenst, you blessed simpletop 15 domefool! Where’s your belested loiternan’s 16 lamp? You must lap wandret down the bluish- 17 ing refluction below. Her trunk’s not her brain- 18 box. Hear where the bolgylines, Yseen here the 19 puncture. So he done it. Luck! See her good. 20 Exclusivism: the Well, well, well, well! O dee, O dee, that’s 21 Ors, Sors and very lovely! We like Simperspreach Hammel- 22 Fors, which? tones to fellow Selvertunes O’Haggans.3 When 23 he rolls over his ars and shows the hise of his 24 heels. Vely lovely entilely! Like a yangsheep- 25 slang with the tsifengtse. So analytical plaus-

Romeopullupalleaps.1 Pose the pen, man, TO COCKER. 2 way me does. Way ole missa vellatooth fust 3 show me how. Fourth power to her illpogue! 4 Force Centres of Bould strokes for your life! Tip! This is Steal, 5 the Fire Serpen- this is Barke, this is Starn, this is Swhipt, this is 6 tine: heart, Wiles, this is Pshaw, this is Doubbllinnbbay- 7 throat, navel, yates.2 This is brave Danny weeping his spache 8 spleen, sacral, for the popers. This is cool Connolly wiping 9 fontanella, inter- his hearth with brave Danny. And this, regard! 10 temporal eye. how Chawleses Skewered parparaparnelligoes 11 Conception of the between brave Danny boy and the Connolly. 12 Compromise and Upanishadem! Top. Spoken hath L’arty Ma- 13 Finding of a gory. Eregobragh. Prouf!3 14 Formula. And Kev was wreathed with his pother. TROTHBLOWERS. 15 But, (that Jacoby feeling again for fore- FIG AND 16 bitten fruit and, my Georgeous, Kevvy too he THISTLE 17 just loves his puppadums, I judge!) after all his PLOT A PIG 18 autocratic writings of paraboles of famellicurbs AND 19 and meddlied muddlingisms, thee faroots hof WHISTLE. 20 Ideal Present cullchaw end ate citrawn woodint wun able 21 Alone Produces rep of the triperforator awlrite blast through 22 Real Future. his pergaman hit him where he lived and do for 23 the blessted selfchuruls, what I think, smarter 24 like it done for a manny another unpious of 25 the hairydary quare quandary firstings till at 26 length, you one bladdy bragger, by mercy- 27 stroke he measured his earth anyway? could 28 not but recken in his adder’s badder cadder 29 way our frankson who, to be plain, he fight 30 him all time twofeller longa kill dead finish 31 bloody face blong you, was misocain. Wince 32 1 He, angel that I thought him, and he not aebel to speel eelyotripes., Mr Tellibly Divilcult! 2 When the dander rattles how the peacocks prance! 3 The Brownes de Browne - Browne of Castlehacknolan. FW304 wan’s won! Rip!1 And his countinghands 1 rose. 2 Formalisa. Loves deathhow simple! WITH EBONISER. 3 Slutningsbane2. IN PIX. 4 Service super- Thanks eversore much, Pointcarried! I can’t EUCHRE 5 seding self. say if it’s the weight you strike me to the RISK, MERCI 6 quick or that red mass I was looking at but at BUCKUP, AND 7 James Joyce: Finnegans Wake. Full Text. Linearized by Contemporary Literature Press 511 the present momentum, potential as I am, I’m MIND WHO 8 seeing rayingbogeys rings round me. Honours YOU’RE 9 to you and may you be commended for our PUCKING, 10 exhibitiveness! I’d love to take you for a FLEBBY. 11 bugaboo ride and play funfer all if you’d only 12 sit and be the ballasted bottle in the porker 13 barrel. You will deserve a rolypoly as long 14 as from here to tomorrow. And to hell with 15 them driftbombs and bottom trailers! If my 16 maily was bag enough I’d send you a toxis. 17 By Saxon Chromaticus, you done that lovely 18 for me! Didn’t he now, Nubilina? Tiny Mite, 19 she studiert whas? With her listeningin coif- 20 fure, her dream of Endsland’s daylast and the 21 glorifires of being presainted maid to majesty.3 22 And less is the pity for she isn’t the lollypops 23 ciprocities. allaloserem, cog it out, here goes a sum. S

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You cannot love a vagina unless you love hair. Many people do not love hair. My first and only husband hated hair. He said it was cluttered and dirty. He made me shave my vagina. It looked puffy and exposed and like a little girl. This excited him. When he made love to me my vagina felt the way a beard must feel. It felt good to rub it and painful. Like scratching a mosquito bite. It felt like it was on fire. There were screaming red bumps. I refused to shave it again. Then my husband had an affair. When we went to marital therapy, he said he screwed around because I wouldn’t please him sexually. I wouldn’t shave my vagina. The therapist had a German accent and gasped (Gasp.) between sentences (Gasp.) to show her empathy. She asked me why I didn’t want to please my husband. I told her I thought it was weird. I felt little when my hair was gone down there and I couldn’t help talking in a baby voice and the skin got irritated and even calamine lotion wouldn’t help it. She told me marriage was a compromise. I asked her if shaving my vagina would stop him from screwing around. I asked her if she had many cases like this before. She said that questions diluted the process. I needed to jump in. She was sure it was a good beginning. This time, when we got home, he got to shave my vagina. It was like a therapy bonus prize. He clipped it a few times and there was a little blood in the bathtub. He didn’t even notice it ’cause he was so happy shaving me. Then, later, when my husband was pressing against me, I could feel his spiky sharpness sticking into me, my naked puffy vagina. There was no protection. There was no fluff.

I have committed to crossing my legs I hope carefully, ankle on knee, hands together in the lap of my slacks. My fingers are mated into a mirrored series of what manifests, to me, as the letter X. The interview room's other personnel include: the University's Director of Composition, its varsity tennis coach, and Academy prorector Mr. A. deLint. C.T. is beside me; the others sit, stand and stand, respectively, at the periphery of my focus. The tennis coach jingles pocket-change. There is something vaguely digestive about the room's odor. The high-traction sole of my complimentary Nike sneaker runs parallel to the wobbling loafer of my mother's half-brother, here in his capacity as Headmaster, sitting in the chair to what I hope is my immediate right, also facing Deans. The Dean at left, a lean yellowish man whose fixed smile nevertheless has the impermanent quality of something stamped into uncooperative material, is a personality-type I've come lately to appreciate, the type who delays need of any response from me by relating my side of the story for me, to me. Passed a packet of computer sheets by the shaggy lion of a Dean at center, he is peaking more or less to these pages, smiling down. (Continues...)