Page 301 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

Pincushions. I’m a long time threatening to buy one.
Sticking them all over the place. Needles in window
curtains.
He bared slightly his left forearm. Scrape: nearly gone.

Not today anyhow. Must go back for that lotion. For her
birthday perhaps. Junejulyaugseptember eighth. Nearly
three months off. Then she mightn’t like it. Women
won’t pick up pins. Say it cuts lo.
Gleaming silks, petticoats on slim brass rails, rays of flat
silk stockings.
Useless to go back. Had to be. Tell me all.
High voices. Sunwarm silk. Jingling harnesses. All for a
woman, home and houses, silkwebs, silver, rich fruits spicy
from Jaffa. Agendath Netaim. Wealth of the world.
A warm human plumpness settled down on his brain.
His brain yielded. Perfume of embraces all him assailed.
With hungered flesh obscurely, he mutely craved to adore.
Duke street. Here we are. Must eat. The Burton. Feel
better then.
He turned Combridge’s corner, still pursued. Jingling,
hoofthuds. Perfumed bodies, warm, full. All kissed,
yielded: in deep summer fields, tangled pressed grass, in
trickling hallways of tenements, along sofas, creaking beds.
—Jack, love!

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