January 4, 2010. Monday.
Situation: Work for a couple hours today, get home around 3. I put on my walking clothes, but Mway and Moi are taking a nap. As I write this, I am waiting for them at any moment to come walking out of Moi’s bedroom door. I might as well say, as I’m waiting, that for the last couple months, to irritate me, Moi has put a photo of Mway up on my computer’s home page. It shows a slightly out-of-focus close-up of her lying on the bed, head turned toward the camera, eyes bugging out, tongue sticking out, poised as if ready anytime for a walk. After an hour I am tired of waiting for the nappers to awaken, and I go downstairs to put on my boots and snow suit. There is a thump from upstairs. I walk back up the stairs, and when I open the bedroom door, Mway is standing behind it, and shoots out the door.
State of the Path: It is too cold today to do anything but the circuit. In the back yard, grass is starting to stick out at places through the snow, but for the most part the snow that fell the other day is still pretty much here. On the path, there are some bare spots, with frozen ground and grass showing, a lot of frozen foot and paw prints. The snow, though, is still a powder on top. The seep at bugland is, for the first time, frozen.
State of the Creek: Most of the creek has frozen. The older ice that never melted is gray, the newer ice, too thick though to poke through with my walking stick, is transparent, and you can see the brown water beneath. In the spots where there are rocks, ice has formed a crystalline lattice; you can see water flowing underneath, as well as air bubbles sliding beneath, which disappear when they reach a small open area of water.
The Fetch: Throw the stick into the dead goldenrod, in the same places as has become my custom the last few days. On her fourth or so fetch, Mway steps on a thorn or something and begins limping, but her vigor is undiminished. One time she goes in the wrong direction, and I have to point to where the stick is. She is satisfied with herself after less than twenty fetches, and looks at me with the stick in her mouth. I thrust my finger at the ground. She drops the stick, and fetches one last time.
3 comments:
My copy of Ulysses?
It’s my theory or call it a hunch or instinct if you want or maybe I just read it in Ellman a letter from Joyce to Frank Budgen or Stuart Gilbert or something that he originally intended Tatters to be the central protagonist he who is all animals a day in the life the story parallels to the adventures of the Greek hero Argos his peregrinations I’m not sure if Joyce mapped it all out or if I’m making it up something like no longer just a pup he’s been abandoned at Sandycove by the couple the Mulligans MacDowells Boardmans someone it’s not his fault because he was never given the proper training for pissing on a sofa or something now a stray on his own has to fend for himself its 8:00 am and he’s gnawing on seaweed wanders by the Dalkey school is kicked by Deasy pretty much you see how it goes throughout the day eventually meets Stephen on the Strand they just ignore each other but at least he doesn’t kick him sneaks onto the train into Dublin hangs more or less around Stephen but gets tired of waiting outside the National Library wanders through a cemetery almost captured by the groundskeeper but back on the streets meets Bloom who gives him the bloody wrapper from a pork kidney bought from the butcher hangs outside his house for a while also gives him some milk he follows him now but gets tired waiting outside the Freeman’s Journal offices wanders alone again getting into all kinds of trouble swats from shopkeepers boots from pubowners winding through pedestrians knocking them down nearly getting hit by trams and the dogcatcher is now on to him too makes many a narrow escape running for his dear life upsetting everything at the concert room of the Ormond Hotel scores flying in the air bow arms flung back at Burton Hotel Byrne’s pub trays carts overturned even through the National Maternity Hospital gurneys colliding blood vials splattering hops over the splayed pudendum of a birthing Mina Purefoy flees down a laundry chute back out on the street exhausted hungry mouthdry outside Barney Kiernan’s pub mysteriously a biscuit like manna falls in front of him from the sky but he has to fight the mangy mongrel Garryowen over it the result of their near-to-the-death struggle they become pals Garryowen himself tired of being clubbed over the head now accompanies him both starving tongues-dragging first back to the Strand nothing but driftwood poop in baby diapers to munch on then into Nighttown to Bella Cohen’s brothel they find some sitting pints to lap up soon howling drunk hallucinating bears tigers elephants dragons hellhounds end up maybe it is in a real fight with a couple of Dobermans somehow bleeding scratched up stumble crawl into the back of a cab kicked then onto Eccles Street in someone’s back yard barf up something they shouldn’t have eaten pissing gallons lying around aching dogsbodies try to sleep till they hear a crash scream in the house after a full second’s debate whether they’re really in the shape to and all the pro’s and con’s go to the rescue turns out be the house of Martha Clifford is it Blazes Boylan after her and her little the ruckus draws Stephen and Bloom from a few houses away even Molly Tatters and Garryowen become possibility suggested of Bloom taking and of Stephen more or less though who takes whom a not clear at all why Joyce abandoned this greatest of great probably sheer homocentricity rumored it’s my theory or something mentioned by Kenner maybe somehow notes got in the hands of Sheila Burnford drew upon them loosely for The Incredible Journey I’m ashamed to say I never read simply because you don’t have a copy of it. M.
All very nice. And my book?
Post a Comment