Status Updates From Finnegans Wake

Sherlook is lorking for him. —Hail many fell of greats! Horey morey smother of fog!

We begin again, I hope. finnegan beginnagen.

The Wake keeps quaking my whirled. It would be quite a quake-jape if we had whirled peas.

Your exagmination round his factification for incamination of a warping process. Declaim!

1.7

Fresh horrors from Hades! Shaun describes Shem’s lowness/filthiness/darkness/wrongness/hybridity until Shem, “haunted by a convulsions sense of not having been or being all that I might have been or you meant to becoming,” narrates: “no longer will I follow you obliquelike through the inspired form of the third person singular and the moods and hesitencies of the depodent but address myself to you”

Of the many modern terms and phrases Joyce invented prophetically, in this section we have "Harley Quinn," and "googling".

The older sisars (Tyrants, regicide is too good for you!) become unbeurrable from age

A king off duty and a jaw forever

Uraliens & Ormuzd

"But all that's left to the last of the Meaghers in the loup of the years prefixed and between is one kneebuckle and two hooks in the front." A beautiful reflection on the last evidence of lost lives and memories. Have a toehold in book 2 now, having completed the epic book 1. Is this Stockholm Syndrome, as I have developed a love for my literary captor.

Real tour-de-force, chapter 1.8. I have to say I've gone from skeptic to appreciator the further in I go. Just the wordplay alone. The presents-gifting section is incredible. I'm only getting the surface, and this thing would take a lifetime of study to fully mine, but I can see why this is revered.

The washerwomen on the River Liffey couldn't possibly be comparable to Wagner's Rhinemaidens, could they be? asks I. I look it up. Yeah, that comparison has been made by scholars. I'm apparently a greater genius than I thought, lol.

The phaynix rose a sun before Erebia sank his smother! Shoot up on that, bright Bennu bird! Va faotre!

"that the more carrots you chop, the more turnips you slit, the more murphies you peel, the more onions you cry over, the more bullbeef you butch, the more mutton you crackerhack, the more potherbs you pound,
the fiercer the fire and the longer your spoon and the harder you
gruel with more grease to your elbow the merrier fumes your
new Irish stew."
I'll take this as metaphorical compliment for getting it this far...

I need to get back innagin to Finnegan as today I didn't get too far in.

Chapter 1.6 was quite a ride. Lots of sauciness and some wordplay that made me laugh out loud. Yeah. I think I can finish this now. Gonna take awhile, though.

Obnoximost posthumust!