On February 2nd of every year the ghost of James Joyce rises from the grave and tries to see his shadow with his good eye. If he sees it, we will receive six more weeks of hyperliterate navel-gazing. Being half-blind, he invariably fails. Depressed, he grabs Nora and flies into exile.
Later, short of money, he complains: groundhogdayisanightmarefromwhichIamtryingtoawake. yes. YES.
2 comments:
And as Red Buttons has often quipped "Never got a Nobel!".
(PS: Had you a memory of actual events in your life, you might recall how this fact once led to you getting free alcohol).
I am completely stumped by this comment. Because, of course, I have no memories of my actual life.
Post a Comment