James Joyce

Still

The girls are in the bedroom with the sun washed over them, mouths slung open. The water here is either too hard or soft, it’s hard to make a lather. I’ve been up more than 24 hours flying, eating, drinking,… Read More ›

Flirting with the banal

James Joyce can describe a commonplace train commute as something wondrous. Shouldn’t it be? You can take pictures of trees and rocks or write poems about them. There aren’t special glasses for artists, though. You have to find the fruit… Read More ›