Shahree Vyaas's Blog, page 14

Here Come Everybody’s Karma (14)

Your allure is within the domain of Sahul’s. And that is unquestionably true to the core of your being. Your shuck tick is remarkable. Furthermore, that particular textile is exceedingly exquisite. The weary journey to Lafayette has come to an end. Halt in your tracks, my dear! Do not be restless! Anubis, the vigilant guardian of the temple of Isis, declares: “I recognize you, stranger, I recognize you, harbinger of salvation. For we have executed upon you, the aberration who arrives unbidden and who’s coming is shrouded in mystery, all the actions ordained by the assembly of singers and scholars of Christ Patrick’s regarding your burial. Hoist the sails, brave sailors!

Finnegans Wake

Your olala is in the region of sahuls. And that’s ashore as you were born. Your shuck tick’s swell. And that there texas is tow linen. The loamsome roam to Laffayette is ended. Drop in your tracks, babe! Be not unrested ! The headboddylwatcher of the chempel of Isid, Totumcalmum, saith: I know thee, metherjar, I know thee, salvation boat. For we have performed upon thee, thou abramanation, who comest ever without being invoked, whose coming is unknown, all the things which the company of the precentors and of the grammarians of Christpatrick’s ordered concerning thee in the matter of the work of thy tombing. Howe of the shipmen, steep wall!

Here Comes Everybody’s Karma (13)

Now, dear Mr. Finnimore, I implore you to relax and indulge yourself like a deity on sabbatical, refraining from venturing outside. Surely you would only become disoriented in Heliopolis, given the labyrinthine nature of the roads in Kapelavaster, especially after navigating the calvary, the North Umbrian, the Fibs Barrow, and Waddling’s Raid, followed by the Bower Moore. You might even find your feet dampened by the foggy dew. Encountering ailing old destitute, the Cottericks’ donkey with a loose shoe clattering, or a disheveled woman dozing with her illegitimate child on a bench would surely disillusion you. It would sour your perception of life, indeed. And the weather, it is equally unkind.

Finnegans Wake

Now be aisy, good Mr Finnimore, sir. And take your laysure like a god on pension and don’t be walking abroad. Sure you’d only lose yourself in Healiopolis now the way your roads in Kapelavaster are that winding there after the calvary, the North Umbrian and the Fivs Barrow and Waddlings Raid and the Bower Moore and wet your feet maybe with the foggy dew’s abroad. Meeting some sick old bankrupt or the Cottericks’ donkey with his shoe hanging, clankatachankata, or a slut snoring with an impure infant on a bench. ‘Twould turn you against life, so ‘twould. And the weather’s that mean too.

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Here Comes Everybody’s Karma (12)

Once upon a time, in a distant age, during the ancient days, when Adam toiled the earth and his wife spun sylvan waters, when the mountainous man was adored by all and the first true lover who ever gazed upon his beloved with devoted eyes, and all lived in harmony with one another, Jarl van Hoother held his regal head high in his lofty abode, selfishly rejecting warmth.

Finnegans Wake

It was of a night, late, lang time agone, in an auldstane eld, when Adam was delvin and his madameen spinning watersilts, when mulk mountynotty man was everybully and the first leal ribberrobber that ever had her ainway everybuddy to his lovesaking eyes and everybilly lived alove with everybiddy else, and Jarl van Hoother had his burnt head high up in his lamphouse, laying cold hands on himself.

Here Comes Everybody’s Karma (11)

From the magnificent isle of triangular Touche-a-terre, nestled amidst the lush wet prairie, emerged Paddy Wippingham and his entourage, as they navigated their way to the bounty of prohibitive pomeracs. Their arrival sent ripples through our tranquil surroundings, leaving an air of opulence that none could rival. Some may strive to divide or conquer, but the ultimate result remains a resplendent fusion. Enter the realms of racketeers and bootleggers.

Finnegans Wake

They came to our island from triangular Toucheaterre beyond the wet prairie rared up in the midst of the cargon of prohibitive pomefructs but along landed Paddy Wippingham and the his garbagecans cotched the creeps of them pricker than our whosethere outofman could quick up her whatsthats.
Somedivide and sumthelot but the tally turns round the same balifuson. Racketeers and bottloggers.

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Here Comes Everybody’s Karma (10)

In this exquisite playbook, an enchanting array of signs unfolds for the inquisitive mind. Let us delve into a world already expounded upon by “Mutt and Jute,” a world that resonates with the tales of countless generations. They reveled, loved, and departed, leaving behind only echoes of their existence. Alas, dominion now belongs to the mad and the greedy.

Finnegans Wake

(Stoop) if you are abcedminded, to this claybook, what curios of signs (please stoop), in this allaphbed! Can you rede (since We and Thou had it out already) its world? It is the same told of all. Many. Miscegenations on miscegenations. Tieckle. They lived und laughed ant loved end left. Forsin. Thy thingdome is given to the Meades and Porsons.

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Here Comes Everybody’s Karma (9)

In the name of Onan, who is this man on the hill wearing tattered garments, standing alone? Who might the notable figure be? His misshapen body, his shriveled feet. He has crooked toes, this short-legged man, and behold, those chest muscles, so mysterious. He is savoring a midday meal from something’s skull. He appears to be a dragon-man. He is nearly at the edge of the estate, this Comestipple Saxon, whether of juniper or February, of bitter or ale, or the wild revelries of various brews. What a peculiar man.

Finnegan’s Wake

In the name of Anem this carl on the kopje in pelted thongs a parth a lone who the joebiggar be he? Forshapen his pigmaid hoagshead, shroonk his plodsfoot. He hath locktoes, this shortshins, and, Obeold that’s pectoral, his mammamuscles most mousterious. It is slaking nuncheon out of some thing’s brain pan. Me seemeth a dragon man. He is almonthst on the kiep fief by here, is Comestipple Sacksoun, be it junipery or febrewery, marracks or alebrill or the ramping riots of pouriose and froriose. What a quhare soort of a mahan.

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Here Comes Everybody’s Karma (8)

For centuries untold, the cornflowers have adorned the fields of Ballymun, the dusk rose has claimed the hedges of Goatstown, and the intertwining tulips have graced the sweet Rush in the mesmerizing dance of the twilight. The whitethorn and the Redhorn have enchanted the may valleys of Knockmaroon, standing resilient against the passing of numerous ages. As the Fomorians have withstood the trials of time, the Oxman has faced the challenges posed by the Firebugs, while the Joynts have erected grand structures in contrast to the Kevanses.
Amidst this captivating tapestry, the Money Tree remains a beacon of prosperity, nurturing the very essence of city life. The eloquent babblers, adorned with their exquisite attire, have been enraptured (confounded by confusion!) as they came and went; cunning tricksters, graceful songbirds, alluring nymphs, and charming paramours.

Finnegan’s Wake

Thus, too, for donkey’s years. Since the bouts of Hebear and Hairyman the cornflowers have been staying at Ballymun, the duskrose has choosed out Goatstown’s hedges, twolips have pressed togatherthem by sweet Rush, townland of twinedlights, the whitethorn and the redthorn have fairygeyed the mayvalleys of Knockmaroon, and, though for rings round them, during a chiliad of perihelygangs, the Formoreans have brittled the tooath of the Danes and the Oxman has been pestered by the Firebugs and the Joynts have thrown up jerrybuilding to the Kevanses and Little on the Green is childsfather to the City (Year! Year! And laughtears!), these paxsealing buttonholes have quadrilled across the centuries and whiff now whafft to us, fresh and made-of-all-smiles as, on the eve of Killallwho. The babbelers with their thangas vain have been (confusium hold them!) they were and went; thigging thugs were and houhnhymn songtoms were and comely norgels were and pollyfool fiansees.

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Here Comes Everybody’s Karma (7)

Hear? By the mausoleum wall. Fimfim fimfim. With a grand funeral. Dumdum dumdum. It is the octophone which overcomes obstacles. Listen! Wheatstone’s magical lyre. They will be continuing forever. They will be listening everywhere. They will be gracefully dancing together. The enchanting music shall belong to them for eternity.

Finnegan’s Wake

Hear? By the mausolime wall. Fimfim fimfim. With a grand funferall. Fumfum fumfum. ‘Tis optophone which ontophanes. List! Wheatstone’s magic lyer. They will be tuggling foriver. They will be lichening for allof. They will be pretumbling forover. The harpsdischord shall be theirs for ollaves.

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Here Comes Everybody’s Karma (6)

She has carefully arranged the coachman’s lantern to better snoop (whoever is cute goes backward and whispers around) and all stolen goods go into her knapsack: silk ribbons and shimmering buttons, soft slippers and flasks from all corners of the world, musical instruments and sacred amulets, maps, keys, and piles of coins, along with jeweled brooches carrying ominous stains, exquisite garters and an abundance of fine footwear and delicate trinkets, and an assortment of treasures and a collection of delicacies, and an unfortunately unattractive collection of desserts and various musical instruments, exquisite fabrics and precious metals, and the final lament that springs from the heart (heartbreaking!) and the most beautiful sight that the world has seen (that’s love!). With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross. The end of life undone. Slain.

Finnegan’s Wake

She’s burrowed the coacher’s headlight the better to pry (who goes cute goes siocur and shoos aroun) and all spoiled goods go into her nabsack: curtrages and rattlin buttins, nappy spattees and flasks of all nations, clavicures and scampulars, maps, keys and woodpiles of haypennies and moonled brooches with bloodstaned breeks in em, boaston nightgarters and masses of shoesets and nickelly nacks and foder allmicheal and a lugly parson of cates and howitzer muchears and midgers and maggets, ills and ells with loffs of toffs and pleures of bells and the last sigh that come fro the hart (bucklied!) and the fairest sin the sunsaw (that’s cearc!). With Kiss. Kiss Criss. Cross Criss. Kiss Cross. Undo lives ‘end. Slain.

Here Comes Everybody’s Karma (5)

Marvel at Toffeethief, the most cunning of eavesdroppers, surveilling from the grand Cape at Hope’s End. Behold the old big Stonewall Wellington, a venerable monument of bygone eras. Here you have the young bachelors with the stiff upper lip and Hyena Hennessy, who erupts into boisterous laughter at the sight of Wellington picking up half of Napoleon’s three-cornered hat from the muddy ground and the Hindu Shimar Shin madly needing a pumpship.
Meanwhile, Lipsey Dooley skillfully extracts the essence of elegance from the Hennessy and the Hindu sailor Shimar Shin stands between the Hennesy and the stable boy. Wellington adjusts the half of the hat of Napoleon on the tail of his white steed, Copenhagen, a covert slight to the Hindoo sailor. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! (Outrageous! Absurd!) The sailor, mad as a hatter, springs up and exclaims to Wellington: Ap Pukkaru! Pukka Yurap!

Finnegan’s Wake

This is the pettiest of the lipoleums, Toffeethief, that spy on the Willingdone from his big white harse, the Capeinhope. Stonewall Willingdone is an old maxy montrumeny. Lipoleums is nice hung bushellors. This is hiena hinnessy laughing alout at the Willingdone. This is lipsyg dooley krieging the funk from the hinnessy. This is the hinndoo Shimar Shin between the dooley boy and the hinnessy. Tip. This is the wixy old Willingdone picket up the half of the threefoiled hat of lipoleums fromoud of the bluddle filth. This is the hinndoo waxing ranjymad for a bombshoob. This is the Willingdone hanking the half of the hat of lipoleums up the tail on the buckside of his big white harse. That was the last joke of Willingdone. Hit, hit, hit! This is the same white harse of the Willingdone, Culpenhelp, waggling his tailoscrupp with the half of a hat of lipoleums to insoult on the hinndoo seeboy. Hney, hney, hney! (Bullsrag! Foul!) This is the seeboy, madrashattaras, upjump and pumpim, cry to the Willingdone: Ap Pukkaru! Pukka Yurap!