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Anand Bose, Glyph Agog In 7 Ecclesia Street, Time: 8 AM
On James Joyce
Page 4
I looked out of the window on to the gleaming pond, rippling in white- I stood transfixed. Her visage was still glowing; it was full of love in a world of words. She was silent, watching me with no expression. And the she vanished leaving me with questions. I am not a muse for answers. Mrs. Dalloway is still walking over ponds as a mermaid. Mermaids can live better there, more tranquil, and moving as streams, streaming. It is tragic when the real and fiction merge to end in merger.
The Dali in me started rumbling with flesh, grunting for flesh in the palate. The flesh is 'paranoid critical'. "If the sun awakens and shines at midnight, its mad"- the sun is never mad with the flesh. Ra was son like with the moon. The moustache went up vertical to ninety degrees, quite bohemian in Bolshevik imperialism. The emperor's colony is full of wax. The bees are lucky to be in a free market zone. A waxing colony for the waning of fin-de-sciecle. Even the colon ends with a dot and then extends to a curve. Picasso's projections are cubic which are hidden with the treasure of not finding the curve; quite avant-garde in arousing the primitive. 'Moly' the magic is Molly curving, its still charming in the 'fetico' of being Portugese. The analytic becomes cliché of dirt, with the hungry lurking of alligators in fetish. The flesh dines the supper of being earthly in libido and divine in urge. The economies of disproportion are admirable when seduction is attempted. Piccaso's 'les-demoissels-de-avignon' is the curve of being modern with the omphallic of being savage in anthropomorphism. The [id] defies culture in being traditional and conservative. The 'flesh is tastier in the forbidden apple', that's from the book of 'cannibal quabbalah'.
Vegetarianism shuns the flesh of being fresh. The blue whale is mammalian in her mammary appetites. The seed soaked in red and squirms with music of navel in motion. The squatting 'demoissel' is abundant with mohanjodaro hips. The toothbrush is oral and curves around, up and down in being immersed.
Reference: James Joyce, A portrait of the artist as a young man
Cf. Goethe on Tragedy (in German) | Aristotle Anthology | Rilke, Letter to a Young Poet | Plato, Whom are we talking to? | Kierkegaard, My work as an author | Emerson, Self-knowledge | Gibson - McRury, Discovering one's face | Emerson, We differ in art, not in wisdom
