-God, he said quitely, Isnt the sea what Algy calls it: a grey sweet mother? The snotgreen sea.The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton…
~Buck Mulligan to Stephen Dedalus, Telemachus, The Ulysses
Listen to what great a silence they behold: Sun in the clear blue sky, the vagrant breeze warm and dry.
The prelude draws its overtures from the reprise.
Slow and steady the tune is built.With the flats and sharps as they gather tempo together with the minors and majors.
Into an experience of this astounding resonance. The voice of orbital orgasm! Whither the moon? Whither the waters? The roar!
As the scale descends, the roar drowns into a death. Only to pass the dying refrain as the theme to the next.
The roar speaks in a million accents: of triumphs,of disappointments,of convictions, of negotiations , of a variety emotions and naked reasons.
In this brutal might there is beauty– austere or magnifique; but nothing is permitted to last more than the lifetime of a wave.
This is no ordinary orchestra.
This is life, the concert writ against the horizon of constancy .
~ Goa , India
