8h13

Articles

• #Ulysse 1021
  22 novembre 2014, par Guillaume Vissac

  Say ten barrels of stuff. Say he got ten per cent off. O more. Fifteen.

• #Ulysse 106
  21 mai 2012, par Guillaume Vissac

  —And what is death, he asked, your mother’s or yours or my own ? You saw only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater and Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissectingroom. It’s a beastly thing and nothing else. It simply doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t kneel down to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why ? Because you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, only it’s injected the wrong way. To me it’s all a mockery and beastly. Her cerebral lobes are not functioning. She calls the doctor sir Peter Teazle and picks buttercups off the quilt. Humour her till it’s over. You crossed her last wish in death and yet you sulk with me because I don’t whinge like some hired mute from Lalouette’s. Absurd ! I suppose I did say it. I didn’t mean to offend the memory of your mother.

• #Ulysse 110
  25 mai 2012, par Guillaume Vissac

  —Of the offence to me, Stephen answered.

• #Ulysse 108
  23 mai 2012, par Guillaume Vissac

  Stephen, shielding the gaping wounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly :
  —I am not thinking of the offence to my mother.

• #Ulysse 113
  28 mai 2012, par Guillaume Vissac

  He walked off quickly round the parapet.

• #Ulysse 1028
  29 novembre 2014, par Guillaume Vissac

  A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the willowpatterned dish : the last.

• #Ulysse 1027
  28 novembre 2014, par Guillaume Vissac

  The shiny links, packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he breathed in tranquilly the lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigs’ blood.

• #Ulysse 1023
  24 novembre 2014, par Guillaume Vissac

  Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee doubleyou.

• #Ulysse 1022
  23 novembre 2014, par Guillaume Vissac

  He passed Saint Joseph’s National school. Brats’ clamour. Windows open. Fresh air helps memory. Or a lilt.

• #Ulysse 1026
  27 novembre 2014, par Guillaume Vissac

  The figures whitened in his mind, unsolved : displeased, he let them fade.