#109

Hobbledehoy. Osgood-Schlater's. Down the road. Up the stairs. The phlegmatic wanderer. Jeehyun joins to say: the truth. And Benjy, henceforth Adam, is at them with his charm. Library (Day 2), it's Andy, Adam, Adrian on the fourth. The fourth, which is music and the words of sophists, friends. JMR they say, JMR. It's British: suck. But John, he's on the third, in the thirties, novels and poems in a stack. What does Stephen think? He says, "Would I these words were woods, thick and pathless." He has on jeans and a blue dress shirt (his father's). Outside the windows of the southern wall, one can see it's storming.

Our profit, lame. Intestate. Like St. Stephen of the Portrait (and this is Valerie's thought). A house of doors, they'll cast him, each open save for one. Oh, middens! (And that is Square's phrase). His quiff and his quaere. I am a wordsmith, a blacksmith, a tunesmith of the mind. Making and maid - those stable women of the stories. Immobile Calypso, stone Nausicaa. Let her be Medea, and it is Stephen who will be read in two.