Happy Bloomsday to all. Here on the Upper West Side, just around the corner from Symphony Space where the faithful gather every year to read the liturgy James Joyce left us, I am happy to report that the delicious language of Ulysses is given life, rolls off the tongue and is licks its way into the earminds of the liberal elite who populate this shtetl where Irish Jews and exiles of all stripes are found in projects and condos jostling together above ground as we jostle below. Here in Night Town, City of Night, In the City In Which I Love You...the search continues...
THE CALLS Wait, my love, and I'll be with you.
THE ANSWERS Round behind the stable.
(A deaf mute idiot with goggle eyes, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. A chain of children's hands imprisons him.)
THE CHILDREN Kithoguel Salute.
THE IDIOT (Lifts a palsied left arm and gurgles.) Grhahute!
THE CHILDREN Where's the great light?
THE IDIOT (Gobbing.) Ghaghahest.