Eating Ulysses. Bloom Balls.

Though James Joyce’s Ulysses properly begins with, Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.  A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air.  He held the bowl aloft and intoned: —Introibo ad altare Dei . (3) … Continue reading Eating Ulysses. Bloom Balls.

Reading And Cooking Liver While Several Species Of Small, Furry Animals Gather Together In A Cave And Groove With A Pict.

Liver has pride of place in the human body in ancient texts as a producer of blood and a source of life.  The Etruscan bronze liver above with its inscriptions guides the reader of entrails through a large, meaty organ considered the basis of life.  The ancient Greek term is hēpatoskōpia, which means to examine the liver. … Continue reading Reading And Cooking Liver While Several Species Of Small, Furry Animals Gather Together In A Cave And Groove With A Pict.

“Wait till the honeying of the lune, love! Die eve, little eve, die!” Telmetale of Stobhach Gaelach, Guinness and Lady Galadriel.

A few words from Finnegans Wake and we’re off.  Last night, Bloomsday evening fell, along with the one hundredth anniversary of Dubliners reaching the world, the amazing short story collection from Mr. Joyce featuring “The Dead,” and its mesmerizing final lines, “His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and … Continue reading “Wait till the honeying of the lune, love! Die eve, little eve, die!” Telmetale of Stobhach Gaelach, Guinness and Lady Galadriel.