Gemini.Finnegans.Wake.05

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This is me Belchum in his twelve-mile cowchooks, weet, tweek and stampforth foremost, footing the camp for the jinnies. Drink a sip, drankasup, for he’s as sooner buy a guinness than he’d stale store stout. This is Rooshious balls. This is a ttrinch. This is mistletropes. This is Cannon Futter with the popynose. After his hundred days’ indulgence. This is the blessed. Tarra’s widdars! This is jinnies in the bonny bawn blooches. This is lipoleums in the rowdy howses. This is the Willingdone, by the splinters of Cork, order fire. Tonnerre! (Bullsear! Play!) This is camelry, this is floodens, this is the solphereens in action, this is jinnies cry. Underwetter! Goat strip Finnlambs! This is jinnies rinning away to their onsterlists dowan a bunkersheels. With a nip nippy nip and a trip trippy trip so airy. For their heart’s right there. Tip. This is me Belchum’s tinkyou tankyou silvoor plate for citchin the crapes in the cool of his canister. Poor the pay! This is the bissmark of the marathon merry of the jinnies they left behind them. This is the Willingdone branlish his same marmorial tallowscoop Sophy-Key-Po for his royal divorsion on the rinnaway jinnies. Gambariste della porca! Dalaveras fimmieras! This is the pettiest of the lipoleums. Tcffeethief, that spy on the Willingdone from his big white harse, the Capeinhope. Stonewall Willingdone is an old maxy montrumeny. Lipoleums is nice hung bushellors. This is hiena hinnessy laughing alout at the Willingdone. This is lipsyg dooley rieging the funk from the hinnessy. This is the hinndoo Shimar Shin Between the dooley boy and the hinnessy. Tip. This is the wixy old Willingdone picket up the half of the threefoiled hat of lipoleums fromoud of the bluddle filth. This is the hinndoo waxing ranjymad for a bombshoob. This is the Willingdone hanking the half of the hat of lipoleums up the tail on the buckside of his big white harse. Tip. That was the last joke of Willingdone. Hit, hit, hit! This is the same white harse of the Willingdone. Culpenhelp, waggling his tailoscrupp with the half of a hat of lipoleums to insoult on the hinndoo seeboy. Hney, hney, hney!(Bullsrag! Foul!) This is the seeboy, madrashattaras, upjump and pumpim, cry to the Willingdone:Ap Pukkaru! Pukka Yurap! This is the Willingdone, bornstable ghentleman, tinders his maxbotch to the cursigan Simar Shin. Basucker Youstead! This is the dooforhim seeboy blow the whole of the half of the hat of lipoleums off of the top of the tail on the back of his big wide harse. Tip (Bullseye! Game!) How Copenhagen ended. This way the museyroom. Mind your boots goan out.

As Monday night brings the weekend to a close, our tour guide leads us through the final, chaotic exhibit in the “Willingdone Museyroom.” This is the frenzied aftermath of the battle, culminating in Wellington’s “last joke.”

This is the Willingdone, by the splinters of Cork, order fire. Tonnerre! (Bullsear! Play!) This is camelry, this is floodens, this is the solphereens in action, this is jinnies cry… jinnies rinning away…
The battle reaches its peak. Wellington gives the order to fire. The scene is a confusing mix of camels (camelry), floods, and sulphur-wielding soldiers (solphereens). The jinnies, who were cheering earlier, are now crying and running away from the violence they helped instigate.

This is the Willingdone branlish his same marmorial tallowscoop Sophy-Key-Po for his royal divorsion on the rinnaway jinnies.
In a sinister turn, Wellington brandishes his sword (Sophy-Key-Po, from the Roman general Scipio) and makes a “royal diversion” of chasing the runaway girls. The heroic general is shown as a predator.

This is the wixy old Willingdone picket up the half of the threefoiled hat of lipoleums fromoud of the bluddle filth. This is the Willingdone hanking the half of the hat of lipoleums up the tail on the buckside of his big white harse. Tip.
Here begins the final act. Wellington picks up the broken half of Napoleon’s famous hat from the bloody mud. Then, in an act of ultimate contempt, he hangs the trophy on the rear end of his horse. This is his “last joke.”

This is the seeboy, madrashattaras, upjump and pumpim, cry to the Willingdone:Ap Pukkaru! Pukka Yurap!
This act of imperial arrogance is witnessed by a colonial soldier, a sepoy (seeboy) from Madras. He is shocked and outraged. He cries out Ap Pukkaru! (Hindi for “Seize him!”) and Pukka Yurap! (“Proper Europe!” or perhaps a sarcastic “Is this what a ‘proper’ European does?”). The joke has a witness who doesn’t find it funny.

This is the dooforhim seeboy blow the whole of the half of the hat of lipoleums off of the top of the tail on the back of his big wide harse. Tip (Bullseye! Game!)
The sepoy doesn’t just shout; he acts. He blows the insulting hat clean off the horse’s tail. It is a small but significant act of rebellion, the colonized subject refusing to accept the colonizer’s contempt. The tour guide declares this the end of the conflict: (Bullseye! Game!).

How Copenhagen ended. This way the museyroom. Mind your boots goan out.
The story of Wellington’s horse, Copenhagen, ends with this absurd, rebellious act. The tour guide, having shown us the entire cycle from the fall to the “jokes” of the victor and the final act of defiance, now ushers us out. The voice is practical and final, mirroring the tour’s opening: Mind your boots goan out.

The entire history contained within the monument—a story of war, betrayal, imperial arrogance, and colonial rebellion—is framed as a museum tour that is now over. We are left, at the end of a long weekend of stories, to step back out into the Dublin night.

04/08/2025, P.10.23, to be continued.