Proteus
Ineluctable: Proteus's fingers piano the clay.
The clay, ever amorphous, now God, now Eden, now midwives, now France,
Now beach, now Stephen, now flashforward, now Uncle Richie, now blame, now
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G now done, but not his thoughts whose concepts vein his anatomy and in the future, when they dissect his corpse, an infinite text will unravel from the first incision, swarming the world in a locust of letters.
Ineluctable: There is French here, (necessaire Modernisme) there is Latin here, there is Shakespeare and Aristotle, staggering hand and hand, Greek and Englishman drunk on allusion, can barely stand. And in the sea a drowning man, in the sky a pigeon with a telegram, on the beach a bloated carca** speaking in a fluent stink, on his mind a digging fox Stephen cannot unthink.
Ineluctable: A boy looking for his father, envious of his second Father, who can create, unlike the boy. Spotting opportunity, (a poem) the boy reaches for the back of Mr. Deasy's letter. He writes. But there is never any advancement. When he moves forward, he stops and realizes he is inside of a frame, of a portrait, that doesn't change, no longer young.
Ineluctable: Proteus sonata is finished, clay put away, and the changing god grows keel, grows hull, grows mast, grows a sail, a black sail that grows and grows until all is black silence though the eyes are open. Now blink: And all is text.