agenbite of inwit

Today's soundtrack:
Nostalgeria - Exploded SkipMix

During my undergraduate degree, with all the readings for classes, I got out of the habit of having a book at my bedside. Now, the bedside table is overflowing with them. Nederlands/Spaans, Frankenstein, Español - Inglés, Memorias de una vaca, and Ulysses. Somehow, Joyce became my bedtime reading (he's following Atwood's The Blind Assassin, which was rather disappointing read). This, I feel, is somewhat disrespectful, but between procrastinating and pretending to work on my thesis, there's just not enough time in the day to sit and read with the upright posture this book requires. I hope Joyce won't hold a grudge against me for this.

I was reading, blissfully mind, away when I came across "agenbite of inwit". Oh, I get it now. See, it's one of those phrases that people who know say in order to gauge if another person knows. Well, now I know. Drinks all around.

Sadly, after I finish Ulysses, which I'm plowing through a chapter a night, I'll be left with only Finnegans Wake left unread on my bookshelf. And I don't think I'm quite ready for that. So I'm taking suggestions. Later this week, I'm going to go to McNally Robinson in search of a book on birds in Saskatoon (one of my many odd fetishes) and hopefully with a suggestion on what book could possibly follow Ulysses on my bedstand.



Esto es unos de mis fotografías favoritas de Miguelito. De Long Beach en al verano pasado. El está en Barcelona hoy (¡qué suerte el cabrón tiene!), y se echo de menos. ¡Quiero que el pueda ver mi pelo rubia! Pero bueno, en realidad, ojalá que esté en España. En Madrid. En Casa del Libro (qué tienda). Tomando un café con leche. Pero, estoy aquí, en una casa dondé la gente arriba hace más sexo que yo. Su novia vino ayer. Y squeak squeak squeak esta mañana. Chuta. Doce días más.

Joé.