So, the day is close to over and the night has begun, but it’s not too late to raise a pint of Guinness to Molly Bloom. It’s not too late to look at all of our lives and realize that each day is as dense with meaning as the day Steven Daedalus walked through; whoring and all.
So here’s to Bloomsday, to life, and to the vast mysterious suchness which lies just below the surface of every ‘ordinary’ minute we live.
…yes I said yes I will Yes.
Damn it, missed it again. I should have a beer or six.
“Terrence O’Ryan heard him and straightaway brought him a crystal cup full of the foaming ebon ale which the noble twin brothers Bungiveagh and Bungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats. cunning as the sons of deathless Leda. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and mass and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, these cunning brothers, lords of the vat.”