I often search the wake for terms and words of interest to me, on a whim. Here I simply quote to instance of the word VOLCANO in the wake. I suspect Joyce surrounded these words with others of a similar nature, or with a strong affinity with one another; a node/cluster of Volcanic fall out. VOLCANO seems another description of the wake, a literary Volcano of languages, hot out the mamalujo womb of the Earth itself, forged in the unspeakable furnace and tossed of out a mountain top resulting in a upward fountain of European chaos and mayhem. Except, unlike a real geological Volcano, the wake plots itselves’ back together again by a re-amalgam of the coincidance of contraries that brought it about in the first place.
I shot be shoddied, throttle me, fine me cowheel for ever,
usquebauched the ersewild aleconner, for bringing briars to
Bembracken and ringing rinbus round Demetrius for, as you wrinkle
wryghtly, bully bluedomer, it’s a suirsite’s stircus haunting
hesteries round old volcanoes. We gin too gnir and thus plinary
indulgence makes collemullas of us all. But Time is for talerman
tasting his tap. Tiptoptap, Mister Maut.
He made one summery (Cholk and murble in lonestime) of his
the three swallows like he was muzzling Moselems and torched
up as the faery pangeant fluwed down the hisophenguts, a slake
for the quicklining, to the tickle of his tube and the twobble of
his fable, O, fibbing once upon a spray what a queer and queasy
spree it was. Plumped. – James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, pg. 319.
I am now becoming about fed up be going circulating about them
new hikler’s highways like them nameless souls,ercked and skorned
and grizzild all over, till it’s rusty October in this bleak forest
and was veribally complussed by thinking of the crater of some
noted volcano or the Dublin river or the catchalot trouth
subsias away out or to isolate i from my multiple Mes on the
spits of Lumbage Island or bury meself, clogs, coolcellar and all,
deep in my wineupon ponteen unless Morrissey’s colt could help
me or the gander maybe at 49 as it is a tithe fish so it is, this
pig’s stomach business, and where on dearth or in the miraculous
meddle of this expending umniverse to turn since it came into
my hands I am hopeless off course to be doing anything
concerning. – James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, pg. 410.
Part one of RAW’s book Coincidance starts with a piece called SYNCHRONICITY AND ISOMORPHISM IN FINNEGANS WAKE. And features an essay: THE PHYSICS OF SYNCHRONICITY (pg. 147), that I believe criss-cross with study of the New Physics and the possible, most probable, I deduct, Holographic Universe model of ‘reality’ ‘consciousness’ and ‘Synchronicity’ as defined by Dr. Wilson, in the language Cybernetics and Neurologic. http://wordspore.blogspot.com/2010/04/dedicated-to-inspiration-for-this-work.html
by thiswis aposterioprismically apatstrophied and paralogically
periparolysed, celestial from principalest of Iro’s Irismans ruinboon pot
before, (for beingtime monkblinkers timeblinged
completamentarily murkblankered in their neutrolysis between the possible
viriditude of the sager and the probable eruberuption of the
saint), — James Joyce, Finnegans Wake, pg.612.
“Such different accounts of a single event, however, are treated in Finnegans Wake not as inconsistent but as complementary. Like the corpuscular and the undulatory characteristics of light in Bohr’s complementarity principle, they are but different facets of the same entity. Even such disparate views as those held by Saint Patrick and the Archdruid in their debate on the “true inwardness of reality” (611.21) are ultimately dissolved into a complementary unity:
for beingtime monkblinkers timeblinged complementarily murkblankered in their neutrolysis between the possible viritude of the sager and the probable eruberuption of the saint. (612.21-24)
Finnegans Wake shares this complementarity with quantum physics as it shares the spatiotemporal unity with the relativity theory. Joyce points out in his book that only through unification of apparently disparate concepts can the “true inwardness of reality” shine through: “And let every crisscouple be so crosscomplimentary, little eggons, youlk and meelk, in a farbiger pancosmos” (613.10-12).