Updates to recent posts

[porphyry]

1. The other day A. called out from the back-seat of the car, "I wish they would stop all those weird noises!" "There is nothing weird about Brahms," I told him, imagining he meant the stereo, but he said nothing to that and a moment later came, "And I wish they would stop all those weird voices talking to me all the time!"

"When do you these voices talk to you?" I asked, somewhat alarmed.

"In the morning."

"You mean when you are waking up? You must mean dreams."

"No, I'm not asleep. Its at night and in the morning when I am lying in bed."

"Well, it is a kind of dream. You think you're awake, but you're not. You're between dreaming and waking." I could not resist telling him these are hypnogogic states, but even to him I am sure that made no impression.


2. Here is A.'s latest toy:



(don't ask me why he's not nude)

Comments

[malkhos.livejournal.com]

I have been meaning to reply to this for days, but it was near the end of the term and I had papers to grade.

I once took a graduate seminar just on James Joyce, and never having had to read so much Joyce altogether, and I was finally able to look at his work more as a whole. I did notice that motif come up--the obsession with sight and vision, etc.

Although I must admit, reading Finnegan's Wake was one assignment I did not get through. It could take me a whole lifetime to get through that.

[(Anonymous)]

Wow, is that uncool that I'm replying so quickly. Anyway, I happened to find your reply today and next week I'm off-line for five days, so.

I can never get enough of a book that really interests me. (Like favourite music, like favourite paintings.) So I guess Joyce, Horace and a few others will eventually have taken my whole lifetime. I'm not complaining.

Joyce calls Finnegans Wake "the hardest crux ever" (FW 623). It's without the apostrophe, by the way. Wow, you really didn't get very deep into it, hahaha! (Just kidding.) I wouldn't want to answer any questions on that book in general, I couldn't draw a map so to speak, but I could go on forever about things I found in the underwood. Frightfully fertile ground, that, and a very straining read.