Guess what, literates! It's the most IMPO'TENT holiday in the literary calendar! Bloomsday! The day when Jim Joyce took his best gal out on the town and maybe got a handjob, and then wrote a book about what everybody else was doing in Dublin at the time.



The Fiction Circus will be headed to the Ulysses Bar on Pearl Street at 2 PM, to hang out with the rest of the fucking bums and hardcases and listen to motherfuckers read from everyone's favorite book of obscene recipes, errata, and hymns -- the book that taught us all that language is basically silly putty, and we should all botch it up like twisted balls to get it right for us in our own mouths and pages, and fuck you if you don't speak my brain. LEARN IT.

Anyhow, for the rest of you, you should join in the fucking bowlarney virtually! The big, important reading of Ulysses starts at some hole called "Symphony Space" at 7 PM, and you can't go. But they are streaming it live for the benefit of the rest of the free world of dirty motherfuckers and dipsomaniacs.

You should listen with your family! Or if you are in prison, you should trade your cell-mate your tapioca to get listenies for the night!

This year's notable readers at the big Ulysses event include the McCourt rat pack and Stephen Colbert, who James Joyce probably would have borrowed money from, if James Joyce were alive today, and he could get through the security.

While Stephen Colbert is reading at the show, I will be fucking his wife and giving her eight separate orgasms! Or maybe I'll just go down to the beach and jack off. You know: alone. Or maybe I will go to a brothel and do nothing. Nothing at all.

Comment!

Posted by miracle on Mon, 16 Jun 2008 02:11:16 -0400 -- permanent link