Having my way with Ulysses

Lord the cracked things come into my head sometimes


and why did i do this work have i no manners nor no refinement nor no agenbite of inwit well i do have the ayenbite of inwyt though i had the devils own job translating it from old kentish dialect and itself literally translated from french but there is so much in there sirens and lapwings and cuckoos I came to this idea while translating old english the anglo saxon rune poem my littlest boy started preschool and like melanctha i had been was always desiring to get back into a classroom and time and writing and who can wait i though id have four hours a day four days a week i can work with that what to do i didnt yet know so i translated the rune poem and somewhere between god mouth and journey by road i thought well as well joyce as another ill let ulysses be my playground what harm if i did i have a little time ill take the book of a day whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere and stretch it into a year ill put bloomsday in the middle of the path of its life and ill write according to the time in ulysses and let it be what i like it to be the first ones came out and no damn fear once i started i tell you as the inner voices of stephen worlds weary because he is overwhelmed by too many choices creating too many worlds and bloom nowthenowhen or maybe better in finite time because hes trapped in the present but that looks like infinitetime not the same idea the same and not the same and too easy to mistake so narrative young and narrative mature could be bloglike and everything in first person voice and lots of voices too and let the styles evolve whatever direction i like images yes they had to fit what i see in my mind for that day and sometimes hours and hours of work to get the picture just right captioned with something that would explain comment transform deepen amuse and the styles changing with the year and never enough time for it four hours a day four days a week was not even a drop of what this took seven to nine hours a day or more every day every day every day every day through child illnesses and birthdays and school holidays and emergencies and exhaustion yes and joy too and problems and life and life and life which i knew going in this is what i wanted i real year packed to the gills with life and work and no looking back no time for revision tomorrow is a new day will be so there are holes in my stockings and naked words all over the place and even my bare ass in tessellation and why not can writing be performance art and what does that look like and how does it happen and what can it be to read something a writer puts out there in real time and who would read i dont know who but i see numbers hundreds a day and increasing so many people half from overseas india reads me during their night and europe in their day ireland england france germany netherlands italy spain south africa egypt japan russia australia new zeland mexico canada argentina peru brazil the middle east asia south america the world i missed one installment for a bad concussion but i made it up the next day though i don’t remember how looking back in a retrospective kind of arrangement there are two or three summer weeks i cant quite recall it all comes floating back in a jumbled simultaneity like dreaming in water but i kept going nothing would stop me not even nothing sometimesĀ i wrote in advance doubling the length of my days i neglected my family who were marvelous good sports about it and the laundry general house cleanliness and personal health i felt sharply the agenbite of inwit but a deal is a deal is a deal is a deal im doing this for a year and i did too and by the by a couple extra weeks on top i found so much in ulysses even at this pace that i had never slowed down long enough before to see not even when i was teaching spend hours on just a page or two every day and things get more clear and as easy to see as where was moses when the candle went out and more muddy too is molly lying about her age i think shes fair and forty who is macintosh ah well who the hell knows everybody and nobody pieces of ulysses float through my dreams when i sleep and joyce too this whole thing has been a dream and my dream if you were to do this you might not speak of mathematical esoterica or temporality though i cant quite see how and youll probably not discover as i did that god and mary are divorced and share custody that martha is so angry and lizzie twigg would show up so often or cassandra and the nuns of tranquilla convent are men and the afterlife is a theatre and god is a stage manager or is it jesus and circes pigs are dogs and having once been repulsed by a friend cooking his cat whenever ago in italy i would write a recipe for it and there are as many hindus as greeks amongst the eternals in ulysses and my earliest childhood living in the black hills during the pine ridge uprising is in there too with grandfather tatanka iyotanka and growing up in a colorado mining town what do you know its in my ulysses there in the back peeking out at the end and when once i had favorite chapters i cant say that now no i cant say that now there was nothing i couldnt say and much i didnt say no time no time tomorrow is a new dream will be

Intercourse, eyeball to eyeball.