Corona | Coming Attractions

I went to Dublin on Bloomsday back in 2007. There wasn't much going on in the way of free events, other than a series of Ulysses readings in front of the Joyce Museum. There were a few local luminaries there, but most of the readers were ambassadors to Ireland from other countries. Some of them read with an English impenetrable to my ear. It came across as a political photo op, and at least half of the ambassadors didn't seem happy to be there. While they were reading, people were selling bread and glass jewelry. The event was poorly attended.

I decided to break from the scene and wander the city. This was tough, as I had twisted my ankle something fierce in Berlin a couple days back, and was walking on a foot that barely fit in its shoe. It got numbed up after an hour or two of stomping around on it, though, and I was able to get around well enough. I saw some Georgian architecture, and I hopped on a bus for a bit. When I realized I had lost my day pass and was stealing my ride, I hopped off at the next stop without bothering to figure out where I was. I wandered some more, and happened on a Punch and Judy-like show featuring a plastic bull riding on the back of a remote control truck. There was also a small ring of fire into which the bull/truck combo was either not supposed to crash, or was supposed to crash despite its having crashed being played as an accident.

I figured out where the Martello tower where Joyce and Gogarty stayed was, and sought it out. I found it. From a distance, it looked like a chubby penis just clearing a bush of green pubes. The entrance to the place wasn't clear to me from the way I had come in. (It probably would have been clearer if I had been in a car or with a group.) I ended up walking on somebody's lawn and getting shouted at. I got the impression that people did this regularly.

I went inside with thirty minutes left before closing time. I was the only patron. The person working there was an elderly who admitted she knew little about Joyce or Gogarty. She told me it was her job to take daily earfuls of everyone else's armchair Joyceanism. I decided I liked her.

The day was long and dreary and not half bad, and I miss there being days like it.

Maybe I should have just added this to my "On Spanking" thread. I could have made that the place for all my childhood recollections.

In 7000 words or less. :)

Natalie wrote:

In 7000 words or less. :)

Not possible! :)

No, really, he can do it in 7000 words. I seem him do it once. Just once, and it took every one of those 7000 words, though I think he kind of cheated and used "cannot" when everyone else in the universe uses "can not".

Then everyone else in the universe is just plain wrong.

This entire thread is a lie.  We all know Goiter did not have a youth, he just kind of burst into existence, fully formed, in a torrent of words one afternoon.

Goiter is the demon from Constantine, only instead of bees and bugs, he's made up of swirling words. Every so often he rubs up against something, and a wall of text peels off.