On The Move

Written earlier to be posted

On the Move

I write this from the dart on the way to Sandycove. It’s where the James Joyce museum is located, and our souls are leaping! We can see the ocean. The museum was built in an old tower on the coast. We were kicked out of the Ashfield House, so tonight we stay in Paddy’s Palace, which isn’t far, and we wake up early for a plane to Birmingham. The ferry across to Holyhead was 120E, whereas the flight is about 40. Plus, from Birmingham it’s a quick ride on the M1 to London, and of course there is the unpredisposessing blur on the M1 halfway through--Northampton! Alan Moore will surely meet us for a séance or beer.

And Mathis may or may not be turning into a reptile.

-Mark





  

  



  

  

  

  




  

  

  

  




  

  


I went off with my hands in my torn coat pockets ;
My overcoat too was becoming ideal ;
I travelled beneath the sky, Muse! and I was your vassal ;
Oh dear me! what marvellous loves I dreamed of !
My only pair of breeches had a big whole in them.
– Stargazing Tom Thumb, I sowed rhymes along my way.
My tavern was at the Sign of the Great Bear.
– My stars in the sky rustled softly.

And I listened to them, sitting on the road-sides
On those pleasant September evenings while I felt drops
Of dew on my forehead like vigorous wine ;

And while, rhyming among the fantastical shadows,
I plucked like the strings of a lyre the elastics
Of my tattered boots, one foot close to my heart !

-Rimbaud