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 YES YES YSSS......BALE? Hafez agreed to waste money on the gulls picking off ticks on the rhinos June 28, 2002 The Iranian What did the first drawer unlocked contain? A drawer full of faded roses and lost ysses on a yellowed...cigarette burned sheet of paper...the last words of Ulysses...ysses..."The FIGTREES in the Alameda gardens YES and all the queer little streets and pink and yellow houses and the ROSEGARDENS and the JESAMINE and GERANIUMS and CACTUS and Gibralter as a girl where I was a flower of the mountain YES when I put the ROSE in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red YES and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again YES and then he asked me would I YES to say YES my MOUNTAINFLOWER and first I put my arms around him YES and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume YES and his heart was going like mad and YES I SAID YES I WILL YES"...It was fun he said and pissed on the old green bus and his heart stopped on an unlucky number 13 in cold, old, mean January...was he ever young in Dublin?..."How sick, sick, sick I am of Dublin! It is a city of failures of rancor and of unhappiness. I long to be out of it"...to die in Zurich after visiting the outhouse where he had a fantasy about becoming a published author with a perforated ulcer at fifty nine..."O Leopold lost the pin to his drawers , He didn't know what to do, To keep them up, To keep them up...(two sluts of the Coombe dance rainly by, shaweled, yelling flatly)"...big swollen clouds and long thunder when James Joyce of Rathgar South Dublin shoved Ireland behind closed doors, ran out the front on marble steps always washed white...a pedofile priest in black and white hurrying by...he knew it all by heart and had an itch to change his underpants...suggesting a far different James than the one drinking Irish whiskey on Sunday outside La Maison Claire near River Liffey...the wind was sitting in the west...I made him a tuna sandwich with love...he looked here and there for red slippers...no mayo...to skip off to a thousand and one drums...a santour...golden poppies...canary gloves and lavender trousers off to. to. to...pee in the streams by the willow trees...tatooed, tossing and turning and thrashing over the sounds of Persia he decided to go with me ysss blue poppies and prophets of rage with a healthy taste for wet dreams under phallic gold domes riding uncastrated adult male horses to death far from gangrene emerald isles..he was as paranoid as f*ck in the rubble of Persian jewels pressed into Naranjestan murmuring moslem prayers together with our shoes off...an Irish bull in an English chinashop...never shat on a shamrock...In Shiraz we wanted to raise a herd of African black rhinoceroses...fencing in a large patch of grassland...releasing some rhino onto it and leaving them to their sweet sins to multiply...Hafez agreed to waste money on the gulls picking off ticks on the rhinos...it was just a soft cock delusion...we took vitimin B and peed on the canvases turned them green like a Japanese landscape when we unlawfully watched the purple rhinos pouring real rhino cream to intoxicate the anus gloomy chambers of St. Patrick...in a red fez with a cadi dress coat and a broad green sash Hafez admitted to not showering in a week holding Joyce's catholic confessions for killing his mum...a bulldog growled...he couldn't be happier...salvation was at hand...yellow flowers drunk...sticking her with a hatchet...sobbing ...the bluebagsof rose and rose of disfigured words...they had the same literary agent...they had cribbed some of the bestselling books doing lines of cocain...weird...funny asses bleeding from their noses...the Irish-Iranian coincidence accused them of bogus writing in heeless slippers...unshaven...their hair ruffled like faded flowers in Hafez's home perfumed Shiraz damask roses ...the city of solemn mollahs groaning with rotten livers eating power bars...singing...burn...burn...burn...the sun set ...the dark came down and the evening star hung out over the caravansara...James and Hafez rounded the last dogleg into town passing lighted Persian windows...they tried to read the map but a dog barked and the light went out...a man with a bald head sat crouched on the stone seat of the entrance smoking his evening opium by candlelight...Hafez and James joined him bringing out their pipes from their donkey bags...limping from the long walk...laughing at the naked moon...singing verses "Hafez would be alone with his sweet song of the immortal lonely ones is he whom solitude and silence have made strong"...while James tried to escape from four fierce dogs going for his white smelly Irish calves in black socks...on a tray came rice, khoresht, yogurt and vodka with mint and red radishes...the moslem prayers had been sung at sunset and they fell asleep ...who let out a roaring crack blunt dull slight moonless lied...they spent two hours over breakfast James catchong up on his notes of Persians in Shiraz in broom closets...and who the f*ck farted...give us a tune James...one of the old sweet songs where the dear old Shannon flows...James held his hat over his genital organs waving his slim ivory cane with a violet bowknot...a noserag peeping out of his waistcoat pocket dim past ...a boy in boarding school snotgreen...he could almost taste it...he had a blister on the sole of his foot that felt as though a rusty nail had been driven into it...spanking a bare ass...they were followed by school boys on their bikes whispering and hissing...where were they from? What was their name? Where were they going? Why were they walking? ...shadow roads in the woods farting and pissing behind mud walls smelling yellow...discussing poetry Iriah and Persian...catholic and moslem...they made a beeline across the back of the bathhouse and passed over the old bridge where a man sat with a brazier of coals burning in front of the bend...there was no barbecue in sight...James said I'm gonna get naked and watch porn for nine hours...tight pants filled with Sodom and Gomorrah lured in Shiraz...ridiculous Zands buried in sand...beheaded...buried alive or suspended by their feet for days over pits full of rotting offal until what the f*ck they died of suffocation or retched their innards up or took their eyeballs out by the wooden door with nails in it with knockers dangling for men and separate round knockers for women...James jiggedy jigged an Irish jig...breathless...amorous delights in the tower needing two in a bush with big titties...which was a real conversational starter on the fringes of the cemetary...it was a hot summer night ...they looked everywhere and never found a party...damaged the two stoned dreamers...shams ud-din and James fell downstairs after being pushed by their mothers who yelled GET UP KIDS!...I put back the faded roses and yellowed paper full of yssses and locked the drawer...balebalebale...pass the Courvoisier...bale?
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