this boat

this boat might be a ship of fools but it's mine...

reading and

_____theres  the first ever photograph of Joyce I' d saw __________________________>

I've begun _ re-reading A Portrait of the Artist as a Young man by JJoyce and its been a long time and then some since I've read it and had forgotten how beautiful it is. For years I've been reading Ulysses and time to time  parts and pAGes of Finnegans Wake. So now the young Dedalus  ) 

(of course I did continue to read it... one reads in fragments after look backs years later.... at least ido this with many books, not all. anyhow, i read the Portrait at least three times right thru... A moo cow comin down the road....)

(little did i know this photograph was to be the last of its kind, as it were, of Joyce standing tall straight and
not blind! his eyesight not yet fractured by day and night

And as Dylan Thomas might have written _ 'I am dumb to say' what wonders I am speechless before the gift of Joyce's love... to the world  via his writing aqueducts...   ... how uplifting and inspiring and positive this writing is. And how Joyce had to go in the direction of Ulysses and his other works. Where else could he have gone after the Portrait?

he had to go to comedy after such lyricism's~


and I have a slight headache with these new lens in me glasses but am slowly seeing better.

O Dedalus!

_________________________and this laptop, as they call it, has given me much trouble. times i must turn it off after 20 minutes to let it cool off....
other times it stays working for hours...

______________I think i must get the typewriter back out soon and begun to write on that wonderful machine again with paper, actual real paper, pounding away on it...

and reading and writing bands of words compose and uncompose....


modern times

a great movie which i just re-watched!

 et quelle bonheur dedans!


ange(l) ha(u)nche

between where these words fit

The primal lover covered in sperm ~

(some of the phrases in this text are worthy of the  outthedoors throw itaway why did you write this _


vives dans

vos hanches      (this line has to be re-written Mister Duffy!)


un homme

entre ange
et loup


________________Territoire des vivants et des morts ~ (weak!) (but why ?) the words dont resonate


this aint bad_____________________________________________________

these eyes mine are sore, no, not the eyes, but the forehead. new glasses and they're Not working so well Yet. We shall see won't we mister poetry.


_____ ma c _ hi n e g u n l i ve

Wikipedia has a fairly good article about the history of the song and its connections to the times. of war & protest~


Sonnez les matines ! radio france vivace `

A remarkable musical programme at Vivace ~ stunning wide awake music _ JuBiliant
depuis 04:05
Programme musical

Sonnez les matines ! (7)

Par Olivier Le Borgne

04:05 Par Olivier Le Borgne

et à... 06:55 Franz Berwald
Symphonie n°4 en mi bémol Majeur : Scherzo : Allegro Molto
Orchestre Philharmonique de Berlin
Igor Markevitch, direction
réf : DGG (DEUTSCHE GRAMMOPHON) 4577---------------------------------

It includes Le Sacre de Printemps

the most exciting music in the world
the Boston Symphony Orchestra

What's listed here is a mere fragment of what has played
and will play ~ !


Radio france Vivace



re :what of it


The solution to the I problem is here

. To
reach, not the point where one no longer says I, but the point where it is no
longer of any importance whether one says I. We are no longer ourselves.
Each will know his own. We have been aided, inspired, multiplied.
A book (blog etcetera....) has neither object nor subject; it is made of variously formed

A book/blog has neither object nor subject; it is made of variously formed
matters, and very different dates and speeds

what of it



what of it


the prb. of the I and the fictions... is it a problem? How does I work its self in relation to the others whose fiction 'I've' created..... the fictions are a way of knowing so they were , and the I texts are ways to know as well. 'I' am not sure just how this is done _ Just yet. Perhaps its madness. The I cutting itself . Not literally, but as the semi-centre of subjectivity. The I must disappear as center. it must become the acentered centered of subjectivity. A kind of rotating I_self.

the sufferings of the body and. mind. and the Alone. Monster or creature? who created this? planet of uneven officials spaces of leaf and river life death and the full bodied ass walking broad daylight.You found your guide in philosophy. How else where? where in that book does the dot 'begin and end' death tracing its nerves.

____________The consciousness that produces this type of writing, this verse paragraph ending with the words "its nerves" is a consciousness that is , like every other form of consciousness, temporary.


In the diction of the fictions
I've created more joy ~. every element in them
even those hours or plateaus of dark rage
are founded by a joy stronger
than all of them.