You know how it is there early in the morning in Havana with the bums still asleep against the walls of the buildings, before even the ice wagons come by with ice for the bars? Well, we came across the square from the dock to the Pearl of San Francisco Cafe to get coffee and there was only one beggar awake in the square and he was getting a drink out of the fountain. But when we got inside the cafe and sat down, there were the three of them waiting for us.

We sat down and one of them came over.
‘Well?’ he said.


A man sets out to chart the world. Through the years, he peoples a space with images of provinces, kingdoms, mountains, bays, ships, islands, fishes, rooms, tools, stars, horses and people. Shortly before his death he discovers that the patient labyrinth of lines traces the images of his own face.

July 13th. Yesterday, after a game of chess, Brecht said: “If Korsch comes we shall have to work out a new game with him. A game in which the positions do not always remain the same; where the function of  the pieces changes if they have stood for a while on the same square: then they become either more effective or weaker. Like this, the game does not develop; it stays the same too long.

Quoted in Reflections by Walter Benjamin. Conversations with Brecht.

Note. Maybe what we do as we start out on a journey…

I arrived in New York on a Monday. Same day as I was born on – which was a good omen. Nobody expected me. Everything awaited me … Then, I walked down 2nd Avenue, Frank O’Hara territory, absorbed in my own condition … one of the new immigrants invading the east village … It was the summer I met Robert Mablethorpe.

BY LORRIES ALONG SIR JOHN ROGERSON’S Quay MR BLOOM WALKED soberly, past Windmill lane, Leask’s the linseed crusher’s, the postal telegraph office. Could have given that address too. And past the sailors home. He turned from the morning noises of the quayside and walked through Lime street. By Brady’s cottages a boy for the skins lolled, his bucket of offal linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. A smaller girl with scars of eczema on her forehead eyed him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. Tell him if he smokes he won’t grow. O let him! His life isn’t such a bed of roses! Waiting outside pubs to bring da home. Come home to ma, da. Slack hour: won’t be many there. He crossed Townsend street, pased the frowning face of Bethel. El, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. And past Nicols’ the undertaker’s. At eleven it is. Time enough. Daresay Corny Kelleher bagged that job for O’Neill’s. SInging with his eyes shut. Corney.Met her once in the park. In the dark. What a lark. Police tout. Her name and address she then told with my tooraloom toraloom tay. O, surely he bagged it. Bury him cheap in whatyoumaycall. With my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom.

In Westland row he halted before the window of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company and read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend, finest quality, family tea. Rather warm. Tea.

Note. Ulysses, First Unlimited Edition, 1937. p 63. And on the book and the 18 hours across Dublin town picks up pace… quay by quay, pub by pub, person words by sudden sounds.

LEE: Potawatomies. The Potawatomies are this double-hard Red Indian tribe. They ruled the Black Mountains of Dakota and terrorised the Bozeman Trail from 1851 to the late 1890s.

… Before a great journey, the Potawatomie braves used to go on fasts to gain knowledge. Build willpower. Vision quests. You go on a dreamquest and discover your true name. Your spirit name.

Act 1. pp 22-23

The region of the Lyn basin and the plain of Flanders consists entirely of low-lying meadow.  Throughout the winter months the clayey subsoil holds the water approximately two feet below the surface and there is a tendency for any minor declivity, whether natural or artificial, to become water-logged.

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