–Hush…I hear feetstoops. // Who feels the creep now?

I’m still between the covers of Ulysses, swimming somewhere in his savory soup of words. He tends to spike my happiness meter with non words and clever phrases, causing me to break abruptly. It’s not the thickness of the book that slows me, it’s the density of thought and emotion he spurs. I’m drawn in like a magnet so strong I can’t breathe. It’s a disease I’m happy to oblige.

//

Write on, imaginative friend. I eat it up.

“Arrow” is great, and I particularly like the backwardly written suicide. But “Cat” is still my favorite.

Funny how you don’t like Joyce and write like you do in your wonderfully weird way.

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Author: uncaged

When Picasso painted a blue Seated Woman in a Chair, he was unconsciously thinking of me.

2 thoughts on “–Hush…I hear feetstoops. // Who feels the creep now?”

  1. I wouldn’t say I don’t like Joyce, I would just say he’s over my head. I would like to like him. I think a lot of people think they are supposed to like him and say they do when they don’t. I would not put you in that category. You’ve written about him a lot, and I believe you truly like him. Which probably makes you very smart and/or wise. I’ve never met anyone who liked Joyce who wasn’t very smart and/or wise.

    Just between you and me, the arrow one and the suicide one are recent (whenever they were posted is pretty close to when they were written). But the one about the cat is kind of ancient. Wrote that one almost twenty years ago. Not quite twenty, but close. Vintage late 1990s, that one. Regardless, thanks for reading. I value your the opinion of others whose writing I like, and who also like Joyce. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I really do like him. I read him only when I’m in certain moods, though. I can’t read him when I’m in a Vonnegut mood, for example, and vice versa. I have to feel about as complicated as Joyce’s writing is to read anything of his, though not all of his work is the same. The Dubliners is different, more down to Earth but still beautifully written. I was reading a little bit of Ulysses (I can handle only a little of that book at a time…it overwhelms me in a number of ways) and the second I came across “feetstoops,” I had to write about it. I thought of “Arrow” and other clever things you’ve written while I was typing, and I thought about how seldom you write short stories anymore. I don’t know how you write even a single one, but you should write them more often. I say that like you are some sort of machine. My mind froze for months, and all I write are silly musings.

      You should put your stories into a book and have it published. Collections of a single author’s short stories are wonderful. They’re like pieces of a mental puzzle, a peek into someone’s brain. Not that I’m peeking into your brain. That’s weird. You’re familiar to me. Other authors I admire are like mythical beings, and when I can read a collection of bits of thought, moments of inspiration, I feel a connection with those writers and they aren’t so…imaginary? Not sure what I’m saying. I’m rambling. I’ve learned by now to not write at 4am, yet here I am. The cats woke me up, and it was either stare at the ceiling or write. It’s dark, and I can’t see the ceiling, so I’m writing. It can be a perilous thing to do, abusing sleepy words.

      Anyway, the point is, I think it was, that I’m a fan and thanks for writing great things to read. If I could tell other authors the same, I would, but they’re all either dead or somewhere out in the world—out of my immediate world and ease or ability to communicate with anyhow.

      Like

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