Ulysses and the winged sirens

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The Ulysses' Sirens had woman's face, and wings, like the bird.

The circumcized sailors had their phalluses full of cream under the noises of the Sun: 
the sea brought a delicious and warm breeze full of pheromones.

The winged Sirens, they made the hero believe, make the hero believe.
Believe that they were singing over a meadow of summer, while, in reality, they were over a camp full of human bones, as white as the semen of the Greek leopard.

And overdried men's skins.

The hero isolated his ears with wax of cachalot's spermaceti; and although he couldn't hear the low-frequencies of the Sirens sound, he couldn't help looking at them, and he saw.

When he watched, he saw; he saw the sound: 

his eyes heard the grass of the meadow of summer growing.

"This, probably must belong to the territory of the reveries, that barely visited camp", he said to himself.
L'abîme monstrueux des rêves.


The field of the bones.


It was the exact moment when Ulysses was driven mad, sick:
he still doesn't know it, but the winged women would be in his mind til his last day, as unattainable objects of desire, a Paradise lost forever.


As the ship got lost in the brumous distance, the Sirens stayed there, rejected, terrible, like a same thing with the meadow, an inscrutable oneness
inexistent, almost.