Loyal readers, it is time for our annual installment of Bloomsday Twiterature, our massive 10,000-year-long project of one tweet-length installment of Ulysses each year. The story so far:
STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently-behind him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:
— Introibo ad altare Dei.
Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called up coarsely:
— Come up, Kinch. Come up, you fearful jesuit.
Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then, ca
The Loyal Reader: Now you’re cooking with gas! We are really starting to motor! But tell us this, it is only Friday…
You are correct it is indeed only Friday but past experience has shown that the vast majority of our readers visit us during the workday. I am sure their weekends are all too crowded with camogie and handball and fixing gutters and picking up the mother from Dunne’s to be visiting the web.
The Loyal Reader: That seems plausible. I am reminded of advice I have been in the habit of offering at this time of year which is to include at least one gratuitous reference to spandex bikinis to attract new punters.
Will do. Anyway, without further ado, here is our 2013 Bloomsday Twiterature offering wherein we finally catch sight of the bauld Stephen Daedalus:
tching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat and shaking his head. Stephen
The Loyal Reader: Ah that’s lovely. There’s eating and drinking in that. That’ll keep me going for a while. See you next year.
Well if you are still in need of more, you can alwasy swing by Ullyses of Stone Street in New York City on Sunday afternoon between 2 and 4 and there will be a great crew reading bits of Ulysses aloud into the sunshine.