I'll tickle his catastrophe.
James JoyceReading two pages apiece of seven books every night, eh? I was young. You bowed to yourself in the mirror, stepping forward to applause earnestly, striking face. Hurray for the Goddamned idiot! Hray! No-one saw: tell no-one. Books you were going to write with letters for titles. Have you read his F? O yes, but I prefer Q. Yes, but W is wonderful. O yes, W. Remember your epiphanies on green oval leaves, deeply deep, copies to be sent if you died to all the great libraries of the world, including Alexandria? Someone was to read them there after a few thousand years, a mahamanvantara. Pico della Mirandola like. Ay, very like a whale. When one reads these strange pages of one long gone one feels that one is at one with one who once...
James JoyceAnd as no man knows the ubicity of his tumulus nor to what processes we shall thereby be ushered nor whether to Tophet or to Edenville in the like way is all hidden when we would backward see from what region of remoteness the whatness of our whoness hath fetched his whenceness.
James JoyceSchool and home seem to recede from us and their influences upon us seemed to wane.
James JoyceI could call my wandering thoughts together. I had hardly any patience with the serious work of life which, now that it stood between me and my desire, seemed to me child's play, ugly monotonous child's play.
James JoyceGazing up into the darkness I saw myself as a creature driven and derided by vanity; and my eyes burned with anguish and anger.
James JoyceWhat birds were they? (...) He listened to the cries: like the squeak of mice be-
hind the wainscot : a shrill twofold note. But the notes
were long and shrill and whirring, unlike the cry of
vermin, falling a third or a fourth and trilled as the
flying beaks clove the air. Their cry was shrill and
clear and fine and falling like threads of silken light
unwound from whirring spools.
When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I makes water I makes water.
James JoyceThe artist, like the God of creation, remains within or behind or beyond or above his handiwork, invisible, refined out of existence, indifferent, paring his fingernails
James JoyceTag: god artists fingernails impartial
الى الداخل . . داخل الداخل :
لقد ظل الشعور بأن الوعي الإنساني يتطور، ويتنامى منذ زمن هيجل على الاقل . وعلى الرغم من أن الكينونة الإنسانية تعني أن يكون المرء شخصا - من ثم - فريدا غير قابل للاستنساخ ، فلذا يتطلب أن يكون نصه كذلك ، وكذلك تلقيه للنص ، حيث يتحول بقراءته إلى الداخل . داخل الداخل !.
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