Gentle lady, do not sing Sad songs about the end of love; Lay aside sadness and sing, How love that passes is enough. Sing about the long deep sleep Of lovers that are dead and how In the grave all love shall sleep Love is aweary now – James Joyce
June 26. MJ.
Outer space, comin' in. Got some Joycean interminglings here, I'm gut at it. Get rugged again, ruggged and tough like Miller and Hemingway and thick-fingered writers with a typewriter in a suitcase with a strong smell of leather. I want more words, more sounds, braid and weave them to a napkin of language you can ...