Rabelais and James Joyce in tatters, non-stop screaming laughing
Two kin hyenas ginsoaked keen for fine feeding using divinely given gifts to write fart jokes
Gassed over hatter-mad scholars trying to find meaning in their words.
Joyce had a fine voice, could have been a singer
People scanread Ulysses then screed Reddit reviews highlighting the book’s abundant humanity
Vanity of mimicry, broken mirror of Irish part and parcel of fourfold aspect of art
Nimrods writing like english degree students to appease some supposed online audience
Reductive plot recitations masquerading as review or critical analysis by the fake witted fated to failure, I’d rather listen to Timmy Mallett’s opinions on Finnegan’s Wake
There was just so much humanity in this book
Yes, have you any other thoughts?
Yes I really liked the bit where didn’t use full stops
What did you think when Stephen was knocked down by squaddies up at St Stephen’s and Cosgrove Lynch kept his hands in his pockets
What part of your mind became obsessed with the exile notes Joyce penned in Trieste
I liked the bit where Buck Mulligan pretends to bless him, and the martello tower
What of the language of flowers, he was a foliate bard educated by jesuits
What of that child, perhaps eleven, Bloom’s dead Rudy; Ruby Pride of the Ring
Where she heard metempsychosis, transmigration of souls, met wet him on the cove cold dirty old Dublin
Man in a Macintosh, the quest for his identity left in the hands of fans, medusa truth unseeable
The man who wrote these things supposedly agreeable, gregarious even, especially gee-eyed
He had pride too much for our little spiny island, he was bound to face trials and strifes expressing his insides in a place so tribal, to driven by the trivial, we are saints and sinners going to heaven or oblivion.
Alchemisland 
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