'Wuthering Heights: Book Six - The Book of [ ]', by D.M. Rice
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.
When she had heard this answer, heard himself saying confessor and two other priests light deceit and illusions, became the face of revelation: hard sometimes, and worn with care. Remember? You were so still, and the credence too readily to prove they be sent from God. Her studious small face. This creature, was very truth, shown over a book or a picture, and her heaviness of heart turned, glowed against the shadows of the laughter—echo in the distance. Oft-times she was greatly depressed upon the present face of that she did not know.
‘You were always there. Together, the dead must rest.’
Delusions - so that she thought back to St. Louis in a flat. Turned out she was alive and from my grandfather’s country—physically was to be underweight. So I wrote Philomena Guinea - she had her feelings on grey paper with the name earth. And especially red leaves made her meek, into the hills, and she knew by experience whether it was a campus instead of having to live at home, and how for [ ] he made her always more [ ] before me and perhaps [ ] in his fear, gave her Great Books the way Mrs Guinea took his mercy. The college library didn’t stock from the beginning. In his own way, questions, true sense, of past? Hector experienced all this treatise in feeling when he [ ] out of that copy into this little book of Margery Kempe. [ ] for something, for some knowledge; by the people he was while he went [ ] all time in the distant sound. Sweetness and devotion. She could head toward its source and sob very violently.
She had his back-yard lawn; they, the Lord’s Passion, and beheld them distinctly; there before her in her long-limbed and graceful weeping and sobbing, she and the boys were looking when she saw her Saviour suffer bemused wonder. They walked among the people living on earth, touching it, leaving no trace. Reverence at that time does not see; and for the worthy to hear and understand. The sound of laughter came meekly and truly in the quiet of the summer. What did you expect? Where she was dwelling brought a kind of joy upon the sermon. He often repeated the breeze. He dimly recalled - his own languishes for love. Those words of failure—as if it mattered. It is hard to speak of perfect love, in fact a man of my [ ] wretched breaker to you first. And a grim reckoning there [ ] for Athene’s hands.The goddess was delighted. What a good thing it is, when a man as Orestes survived to pay the snake in the grass, who at once began an ernest tirade. You, my friend - and what a tall and grown suppliant! Poseidon will sing your praises!, vouchsafe success to Nestor.
[ ] replied: ‘King Nestor, whom the honour was revenge indeed! Grant Achean lands and love the gods. Give me a ship and afterwards get safely to bed.’
The goddess prayed, and accounts those ruffians for their insufferable fulfilment. Happiness for prayers. The outer flesh from his manhood received bags - twenty measures about the earth. A word to anyone else! Get the evening, I shall fetch them upstairs for the night. I am off upon many a holy thought of our chance of finding some return. A spiritual sight as truly as if Euycleia burst into a wail of sight. She could not weep. Cry with him. ‘What on earth has [ ] such great pains for love. What takes you that you must go pray for all? You, an only son, the apple of Odysseus dead and gone, far from the might our lord and due worship is at all times plotting mischief against you. Stand the holy words and laws of God. They’ll share all this between them according to their power. Guard your own property. It was the custom in the place—the hard life wandered round a sermon on that day, and then in the pulpit preached that controlled voice. Her face was drawn, and her eyes were red and moist. Their gazes locked; she looked at him for a long moment, almost in disbelief; then she turned away. He knew that he would not see her again.
He had no wish to die; but there were moments, after Grace left, when he looked forward impatiently, as one might look to the moment of a journey that one does not wish to take. And like any traveler, he felt that there were many things he had to do before he left; yet he could not think what they were. He had become so weak that he could not walk; he spent his days and nights in Edith, the books arranged on his narrow bed so that he would not have to exert himself to reach them. He read little, though the presence of his books—of warm water—a Ladies’ Day in the mill [ ] two ice cream dishes. In the mill in spite my man was sorry, and tried, folded the linen napkin and laid his horse—pull! Sometimes he bit my lips down on it precisely, beat him, and sometimes he took from the table a fuzzy pink lip shaped like a tiny heart. Then this man set a pair, the horses’s back to make him bowl. At the home of my man it was no use. At my college, the little freckled [ ] told me to write to the person I loved. He took the other horse. They were still alive, and thank Philomena Guinea, a wealthy nineteen-year novel made into a silent film with mean thoughts. Unworthy seemed to him such dim presences gathered over what his life had been. He could not see them, but at the edge of his consciousness; gathering their forces, he knew what they were there. He was a kind of palpability. There was no need to hurry. He is approaching them, he knew; but he had all the time there was. He could ignore them if he liked. There was softness upon his limbs. A sense of his languor crept with a sudden force, and his own identity came upon him, and he knew the power of it.
He was. His head turned. He had been.
That table was piled with books. Play over them for a moment—for a long time. He let his hand start at the intricate thinness of the joints as the debate with Nestor played out. Some barley-meal in strong leather Troy brings back! The miseries of mil-crushed grain. Not there - raid after raid across the provisions, and at Achilles’ beck and call. I fight myself when my mother has gone to the walls of royal Priam’s town! And to Sparta and Sandy Pylos, the warlike Aias lies. There lies my dear father, wise as the gods in counsel. There too, his fond old nurse, as good as he was brave. The protest: a fighter that endured at Troy. There into your head it will unfold to you the whole disastrous wandering through the world. Half a dozen mothers’ eyes, and patience gone. Did you find his home foreign? Fellows will be toil by every victory. When they’ve done you to death, and all the time there was not a tight soul against the admirable Odyssey. There’s no call for you to take supreme the barren seas.
That great man’s words! Our Lord Jesus worked in her mind, when wise Telemachus replied, ‘ There’s Lord Jesus Christ. You must swear to me that you won’t forsake us with your bitter Passion.’ A dozen days or till she misses me—redemption. The suffering don’t want tears to spoil her breast. She [ ] gods—that she would keep appearing. Her oath drew off the barley-meal into service, then rejoined the company in the hall.
She would have burst. Measure [ ] had suggested itself to the bright Lord’s Passion. Disguising herself as Telemachus, she picked out her twenty men, instructing the whole company to pretend to be called to the ship at nightfall. The vessel itself she named Phronius, a prominent Ithacan, who was pleasing to me. For the more [ ] fell in the streets, the [more] the goddess endured for my love, the more water stowed in her in the secluded country farm, in the bleak, moonlit pillow. These men gave up their jobs and would not betray the common women for a million dollars. In the town of N. neither man invited me to lunch. At [ ] some talked of her being punished by God for being prideful. Finger-bowl vengeance on her; some saw blossoms floating in it, and some wise men, a sort of Japanese after-dinner love. Our Lord said it was the crisp little blossoms that called her from the pride. And it was only much later, at college about the dinner, all these adversities came on—scourges our Lord would ask for mercy, and lit the interior of the ladies’ bodily penance, and the desire that she had, and began to clean [ ] the sort as shall be told hereafter. In Brazil, it flew straight and rings on your wedding ring.
I am speaking of your father, if you, indeed, cannot help looking. With Nestor talking exactly as he did, I should quit while his followers so resemble him in speech. Skewers roasting in preparation at the general assembly. They caught sight of Odysseus and questioned their direction, waving their sides. We seemed to share the newcomers, to join them. We laid down for the successful banquet. ‘Not all of the Agrives near his brother honestly, and so, we have helped them to the ruins and sailed away with wine and proffered hands. Zeus planned disaster—the Daughter of Zeus wears a bright-eyed Daughter’s mask, holding it in the Lord Poseidon’s making. The two sons of my friend [ ]; and when you have made the moment with no prayer, as our rites dictate, pass on the whole Achaean army to your companion here, so that he may worship the immortal.
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Photograph by Nitin Arya