scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

16.6.06

oh. and? i now am fully qualified to celebrate Bloomsday. bitches. Which is, yes, today. because i finished ulysses sans study guides, sans Cliffs Notes (which someone got specifically for me), sans finding and going over and combing through all the worthless piles of chatter everyone else has ever said about it. look, academia, i'm sorry. it's a story, not the fucking Gospel.

maybe it's just me: if i think art is entirely subjective. That the author, the creator, loses control the moment someone else looks at it. That it will never be the same to two people. That i think ulysses is a perfectly fine novel, and does not have to be The Great Irish Politickal Manifesto with cream and sugar and a cherry on top. If people can read as much (if not, historically, well, more) predictive meaning into the rotational movements of the solar system then you really have nothing to be proud of, eh? Joyce is dead. Shakespeare is dead. Sylvia fucking Plath. dead. so what good are you going to do anybody? discover your own damn psyche.

my favorite thing about Rotten Tomatoes.com: it's enough criticism for anybody. If x percent of people liked it or not. All i need to know, thanks. tags:bloomsday

scrawled @ 20:24