nigger count: 12

The anti-Semitic slurs in Ulysses are countless, but there seems to be some point to it, a platform to defend Bloom, or to facilitate the characterization of the people Bloom and Dedalus encounter during the day. The latent misogyny,  the insidious tenet that women are morally and intellectually inferior, is palpable and permeates each female character(ization), especially Molly(‘s). Joyce is an Aristotle nut, so I expect it and can process it. But what literally smacks the breath out of me, what gets a visceral reaction, is the gratuitous niggerlips, niggermouth, nigger and its variations, sambo, golliwog, coon, darkie. Surely Joyce, a man of such loquacious detail, can do better. After-all, nigger lips do come in different sizes.

Racism is a late 20th Century concept, I get that. The thought of political correctness circa 1922 actually makes me chuckle, mitigating Joyce’s culpability somewhat. Still, it doesn’t abate my disappointment.

Nigger is the pin that pricked.

kutcher v. shakespeare

come on, ashton. i dare ya...

Joyce makes me think of all kinds of random shit, e.g. Kutcher’s Punk’d list is impressive, but a coup de grâce would be Anne Hathaway. Shakespeare threw down the gauntlet when he punkt his own Anne Hathaway, bequeathing her only his second-best bed. Here is the poem that led to this random thought,


Leftabed   Ulysses p.195


chapbook: on art

A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.

Some art is disposable, like an old boot. Other old boots will lead you to a quidditch final.

Entelechy: actualized potential, pure realization of potential, if Joyce became Aristotle

Art has to reveal to us ideas, formless spiritual essences. The supreme question about a work of art is out of how deep a life does it spring.

Or as Galactus says -Wait a hundred years. If it’s still there it’s art, if not it was just bullshit.- Yes, just a toilet or an old boot.

Everything is dear if you don’t want it.

Stephen admits to bathing rarely. Bloom refrains from critique because of, “the incompatibility of aquacity with the erratic originality of genius.” Some people’s shit don’t stink.

People can put up with being bitten by a wolf but what properly riles them is a bite from a sheep.