why am i looking for inspiration right now? i can still see sunsets, can still get annoyed in the twice daily traffic jams, car against car, making lovers wait and families, bicyclists cruising gaily – what’s missing?
friendship is nothing to me – brotherhood everything. there are a few men who earned my attention and i theirs. we carry each other around in our breastpockets, the pockets of men over male chests thickly covered with goat hair. we eat smelly cheese and sausage on rye and stamp our hooves. we harvest the time left to us, we multiply it by thousand, and we return it to the world. we will be remembered for our courage, for braving the merciless clockwork of modernity. (we take words like this, prune them and fill them in concrete blocks: modernit. we split nouns where it pleases us: we are modern men.) my friends and i wear our hair white and long (but no pony tail, please): we drink orange pekoe.
i am a joycean today, i rub my eye patch with glee, i reread mysterious lines in the paper: famous critic smashed by giant potato peeler. dublin elected world capital of bunburyism. firecracker discovered under pope’s throne – there is enough drama in this world to fill all papers and all blogs of millenia to come.
i am a wilde man, a beest with telescopic tweezers for fingers: i reach down into the drains and pick up your keys where you lost them: then i follow you home. i open your door behind you, looking everywhere, dropping my eyeballs all over the bookcases to see what you’re reading: i measure the dust weighing on your mind with a scale made of cricket legs.
let us rejoyce: “Is there one who understands me?”
what’s missing? i can still taste water like wine. still smell my woman: the place between her breasts is my fountain of youth. still bicker carrying a bread basket with false teeth. i still get laid like a man, my moisture settling on her bare bush.
i am Y & if you can say my name, you’re Y, too and you must follow me swiftly where i live: in the underbrush of your yearning.
© 2009 finnegan flawnt jamming with joyce.
Okay, the dust weighing my mind is going to crack any scale made with cricket legs.
i liked the flow of this..whats it called..cadence?
d’know…I thought you were that there mr joyce today, looking handsomely rakish in your eyepatch, like a pirate, tweezer-fingering his treasure.
J.J. said that the demand that he made of his readers was that they should devote their whole lives to reading his works…you too have all of your devotees sniffing out your every word, as though they were rich truffles…you mr f. inspire US!
I love the line about dropping your eyeballs all over the bookcases to see what we are reading…from now on i shall keep two marbles on the bookshelves, in honour of that line!nd
not bad, never bad sir. tweezer bit is brilliant and
“i am a joycean today, i rub my eye patch with glee, i reread mysterious lines in the paper: famous critic smashed by giant potato peeler. dublin elected world capital of bunburyism. firecracker discovered under pope’s throne – there is enough drama in this world to fill all papers and all blogs of millenia to come.”
…i want to print that off and read it in the Love making quadrant of my house.
I would love to know how you come up with these. How do you know what you want to include or not include? I’m interested in peeking at your creative process
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you are too kind, my friends. lemme dig in here before a merciful angel kicks me off the keyboard…
@Bad Alice: a cracked scale is an even better image…like it!
@Heather: well, thank you, my dear. what can i say: you inspire me. i think of you when i put something here, and not just of myself (that’s a good thing). au retour: in your honour, i have turned my alt in SL into a centaur with a beautiful horse body and yellow eyes.
@Starliteve: i need to wait – a long time in this last case. when i get antsy enough, after a long summer of writing (different stuff), they fall off a tree into my open hand. what opened it, this time, was reading the brilliant “reading joyce” by david pierce. it feels a little like dreaming on the page: lots of stardust, small pieces, that i need to rearrange on the page (not for long, only a few hours go by). interestingly, it’s a similar process as employed by ms flawnt when she works on her art. regrettably, i have not found my own key yet – to combine all of them to a larger hole. but perhaps this is a key which had better stayed down there to be longed for, not to be grabbed. any clearer?
@cyn thank you! “cadence” is a nice term for it. though, when looking at the musical equivalent, it’s rather a predictable form. in my case, when i mash it all up, i try to break the feeling of cadence.
@frank thank you, sir. without wanting to intrude on your practice of love making, but it sounds interesting and you should let me know how it worked for you both. it’s my life’s mission to interrupt the cushy coitus and frustrate my readers as you, no doubt will be frustrated by this, as i have been: http://bit.ly/N9hCQ
@starliteve i forgot another source: watched “the importance of being earnest” (with everett, firth – excellent movie) a few weeks back, and the poor mr bunbury has been lingering on a dirty cot next to my bed ever since. he died last night, i’m happy to report. pierce says, btw, that non-native english speakers make the best readers of joyce: we dig the surreal. arguably, we live it more intensely than you guys.
this piece fed my charged zones. i want to become the entity that sips from outstretched shadows, measures her breathing slowly while i unfold and while i expand myself within her, i want to bcome the absolute centre of the lurking galaxies shrouded in the stealth of argued theorems and theories by men and women still afraid to turn on the living lights of their enriched lusts….
thanks hazar, your fire works for me & inspires. here’s how it looks: http://bit.ly/2qdTKZ