Wuthering Heights is an experimental redaction in the style of the William Burroughs cut ups. The source texts are The Odyssey, The Book of Margery Kempe, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath, and Stoner by John Williams.

With a grunt and stems that curled around them, the charge of the carcass, the shadow of a young prince’s wound. And before long they were under the care of Autolycus, who would creep up, slowly and then from his injury became aware that someone was given a happy send off. His gentle mother looked up. It was Katherine in his scar, and Odysseus told them he had been gashed by a boar. They sometimes met—they had not really spoken. Now, as the old woman was dimly annoyed, recognized the feel of it and did not wish to be reminded of the metal ring ensued from it. He pushed [      ], setting it and spilling anguish through with tears.
Her voice was a hand to Odysseus’ chin and [     ] said, ‘My dear child. To think she handled all my master’s limbs! Tell me who you went to...’

A coloured cord ran down the light with a slow, almost white lamp. The fuzzy cord—past me to [      ]. It shook me till my teeth rattled, a Mrs Greenwood.
‘I heard they were stuck, from my throat, for I didn’t quaver in the air.’
Then my hands jerked free on the piano stool, the torn sheet of a small hole, black—a dead bird. She started at me, and pitted the centre of my right palm.
‘How do you feel?’
She stuck out her tongue. There sat Nestor with his sons. A whistling wind blew up. They were piercing meat, running down the highways of the banquet. But soon, in the night, many bulls, strangers, all made a move in [       ] altar after spanning that weary [      ]. Hands in welcome, beckoning Nestor’s son, the company of Diomedes the [     ] gave fine craft to downy fleece. The breeze dropped from the blow. Inner parts, a gold cup without any news of the men, with these words to Pallas Athene. [       ] no idea who escaped or who was at the aegis: ‘come to me as I sit here at home. This feast you find, Myrmidon spearmen reach with honour. Pray to the god, Achilles’ noble son; and your drink-offering fare equally well. Again, the cup of mellow wine to your Crete: all, that is, who had [     ] do the same. For he too must be one from him. As for Agamemnon, gods, whom no man can neglect—even you must have age, that I hand this golden cup of sweet wine. Have no fears. A god’s hand in this tact. Tell my good mother [    ] her the golden beaker first, and find I’m gone.

We pray to the Lord Poseidon: Girdler of Earth, and do not begrudge the old woman by all the fulfillment of our wishes. First, secret, and solemnly consider these flagons and return to Pylos for Telemachus, that Telemachus and I may meanwhile another black eyed goddess Athene. Home. Up and down through each petition left her lips she pressed them each the word, then she passed the fine two - by the good Odysseus’ son repeated her [     ] of Noemon, son of the victims now roasted and glad to let her have it. We were carved for all, and they fell to the sun sank, and darkness ran the good ship into Telemachus. [     ] with harm’s way as quickly as possible. Our ships made splendid fish, reaching Geraestus. We laid on Poseidon’s stretch of water.
‘It was on the fourth day that he took one of those horses. Tamer of horses, [     ] brought before Pylos, and all the [      ] man might do. The god’s will—it was everything he could think of to make pride. My dear lad, I got him by the head. Sometimes greed was all we had left behind, and have made a fuss of nothing. And she lost. But all the news has gone backwards rather than forwards like the sharp spurs on his heels and attention—first place—in safety under the great pull, but it was no better. When this [   ] wants Poeas’ son, the brilliant Philovyryrd, put this horse back in his stable, and independence,’ 

Idomeneus brought all his men. They are well and freshly. And afterwards survived the war. The sea got put in the mill. And just as [       ] (which is different), men might do [      ]. This amazement:
‘You stay any longer than you have sworn, no noise about in all those years—nor beast would serve the council of the kings. I find ourselves speaking on opposite—accursed.’
Some said God openly took a single mind. So well did we agree one thing, and some said another. Good sense and ripe judgment—we minds were more grounded in the conduct of the Agrives’ affairs. High mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ: showed as much wisdom or vanity of this wretched world. Had brought Priam’s city down in this creature, seeing them on the homeward run. As every side thought they were the grief, the fatal anger of chastity—hers for her sin. She of that mighty Sire. She forsook her pride, her covetousness, acting on the spur of worldly dignity, and did great regard for form. They summoned the way of everlasting life—assemble at sunset, so that the troops wore white robes like nuns did.

‘You were a beautiful child,’ he spoke - but it seemed to him for a moment that he did not know the world.
[     ] swam before his eyes, found shape of laughter, and he turned his daughter, lined and somber. Groups of students had cut, closed his eyes again.
‘In the hurrying to sit with me when I worked. There were three couples. The girls light...the light…’
The light in their light summer dresses (see it now) had been absorbed with a joyous and childish absorption, lightly upon the grass, hardly so that the smooth flesh of  where they had been [    ]. The room where he could vanish. The course and child.
‘Of course,’ he said again, to him, far and unknowing.
‘Hush,’ she said softly, ‘you [             ] afternoon.’
And that was their farewell. He thought again. She had been borne on a summer day, and said something else that he had been thinking of, struck her body until God was still running to her mind. They lived in a large mansion not far
[             ]. They stood spiritually, and the fear that a long letter in coal-black ink was the greatest scourge that she had the college embossed in her first feelings. And that fear looked like autumn when I had no joy. The feeling was true or not. But blessed may God be, by bus to a city college and all knowledge was mighty and more strong in his love. I would be able to write of virtue, with perseverance.

Here ends this treatise, for God’s books in the town library - I wrote the first copy of this book—then for some reason - our manner [     ] to end with long, suspenseful writing. They discern that Gladys knew Roger in God, and of herself ‘feverishly’. How acting is truly learned, Elsie, hidden memories—name of fierce trust. And misty seas in search of plunder. She was sorry, for fear as to fight the very well as she had felt or not. For Achilles, there, Patroclus. People think revelations are not appropriate to give to the fastest runner of them all—stirring. But steadfastly and full count of what the Achaen is, no man on earth. Experience, and years by which your spiritual comfort—and yourself be home.
‘For nine long years we understood about her feelings - what stratagem we could devise for many days Zeus seemed to grudge it to us. She had deceptions and dared to match his wits. She wished her head had been [           ] Zeus, who in every kind of strategy explained none. “I know your home is far from mankind, and how dearly he had shed his heart’s blood for Aegisthus’ plot.” So shameful a death for our salvation. We die for a son to survive, to keep the fire of love enclosed within our murderer. To kill that [       ] what was enclosed, had killed his noble father outwardly. Splendid fellow you have wept and sobbed very bitterly, the future generations, pity and compassion. That wise young Telemachus - and sometimes she was all the Achaens’ delight. It was so loud and violent, and Orestes’ fame will travel [     ] her and curse her roundly, supposing generations still to come.’
Cry strength like this, to cope a mother’s suitors and settle blackguardly tricks!

But fate said to her, ‘Daughter, this is very [     ] me, my father, either shame or contempt shall you have with me in heaven. They are.’ (Be so).

Sounds and great melodies.