I think what amazes me (?) the most about Ulysses isn’t so much that Bloom asks himself whether the statues in the National Gallery have buttholes. I mean, that’s a fairly reasonable thing to wonder about. (Like, I once interrupted a biology class to ask how octopuses know what color to change to.)
It’s that he then goes to the National Gallery to check it out himself. He fucking follows through.
hahahahhahahhahahh ———————-good for Bloom and James Joyce
—————————— picture a triangle <______________joyce<_________________________>mozart<___________> picasso<_________________
About: Caleb Moss is a 20-year old invalid who is unemployed, uncouth and writes of an existence that is both eminent and perishable as the residual items of a waste bin. Follow him on Tumblr: hyper-cerebraldeathmachine
"I am. I am, I exist, I think, therefore I am; I am because I think, why do I think? I don’t want to think any more, I am because I think that I don’t want to be, I think that I … because … ugh!"
— Jean Paul Sartre, Nausea (via what-ever-comes-to-mind)