"Lestrygonians" Observation

This is a really difficult text to read because Joyce uses (third-person) streams of consciousness rather than a traditional, structured third-person narrative (so it reads like a person's thoughts, meaning that there are lots of fragments and jumping around, because in real life, one idea often gives birth to a new one altogether, seemingly out of nowhere, and they are not always in complete sentences). He also seems to go back and forth between writing from an outside narrator's point of view and from the perspective of the main character (Bloome). Anyway, I like this part:

Stuck on the pane two flies buzzed, stuck.

Glowing wine on [Bloome's] palate lingered swallowed. Crushing in the winepress grapes of Burgundy. Sun's heat it is. Seems to a secret touch telling me memory. Touched his sense moistened remembered. Hidden under wild ferns on Howth. Below us bay sleeping sky. No sound. The sky. The bay purple by the Lion's head. Green by Drumleck. Yellowgreen towards Sutton. Fields of undersea, the lines faint brown in grass, buried cities. Pillowed on my coat she had her hair, earwigs. In the heather scrub my hand under her nape, you'll toss me all. O wonder! Coolsoft with ointments her hand touched me, caressed: her eyes upon me did not turn away. Ravished over her I lay, full lips full open, kissed her mouth. Yum. Softly she gave me in my mouth the seedcake warm and chewed. Mawkish pulp her mouth had mumbled sweet and sour with spittle. Joy: I ate it: joy. Young life, her lips that gave me pouting. Soft, warm, sticky grumjelly lips. Flowers her eyes were, take me, willing eyes. Pebbles fell. She lay still. A goat. No-one. High on Ben Howth rhododendrons a nannygoat walking surefooted, dropping currants. Screened under ferns she laughed warmfolded. Wildly I lay on her, kissed her; eyes, her lips, her stretched neck, beating, woman's breasts full in her blouse of nun's veiling, fat nipples upright. Hot I tongued her. She kissed me. I was kissed. All yielding she tossed my hair. Kissed, she kissed me.

Me. And me now.

Stuck, the flies buzzed.

I like the way Joyce uses streams of consciousness here to connect the mating flies to a memory of a sexual encounter between his wife and himself. The passage is particularly powerful near the end, when Joyce gets more explicit by mentioning "nipples" and "tongues." The sexual encounter reaches its peak just as Bloome thinks "she kissed me" (my emphasis), and then the word "me" leads him back to the present, the "me now" (again, my emphasis). Then he sees the flies again. At this point, Joyce brings the passage full circle, and one might even say that, in a way, he uses the romantic memory of the Bloomes' lovemaking to fill in the details of the "stuck" flies' own lovemaking. We MIGHT even be tempted to say that he compares/contrasts the flies and the Bloomes and, doing so, humanizes the flies or, conversely, animalizes Bloome and his wife.