Cranly's Arm

I may have been inadvertently misleading when I linked my dismissive sentiments about Irish folklore to my fading mentor Jerry. That hostility came about because I made a serious misjudgement about staying in a graduate level course with the Irish poet Thomas Kinsella. He did not want to pass me and I did not want to do the work. His ego and and my weariness with a life of protective campus cubic journeys collided, and it turned out that I had exceeded my credits to get out. I booted with the skin of my teeth. Interacting with him was the worst experience of my life, and I sold everything related to the class, no acrimony intended. I enrolled thinking one thing and he expected a dissertation on folklore, I cannot remember, and would have dropped it, spared myself a burning shame, but the government, well meaning, dissuaded me. He'd no doubt suspect I'm a fatal masochist tackling Joyce. I can hear a sharp "ach" out there in Dublin. Do eighty-four year old's use apps?

I may have also been hasty dismissing the labor of Ulysses, reminding myself that Lance is a young teacher who is not grading me and will not have the same level of expectation. I am driving myself here, maybe stupidly-- in my deepest insecurity, I am just a cripple to be patronized, right? But driving myself to leave at least one critical, worthwhile observation behind me before I can no longer, and Joyce had valid reasons to obfuscate in his allusions, burying what at the time was a radical subversion. I did study his pre- Ulysses output and will reluctantly have to reread Portrait, meanwhile researching Mia's past as if I was Faustis with a ms. You can blame that on the anniversary of the scandal cracking the scarred and mortally wounded poet back open. I am hoping since she rears disabled children that she will allow me journalistic access, poem or no poem, she was certainly proto-anorexic to Frank's quasi-mid December impotence. If any of you have any tips on how I can access the film Secret Ceremony (68) [not silent, apologies, retention error] without renewing my Netflix account, do pass it along; if you have streamed it on hula without many technical issues, for instance. New York Magazine's feature is the investigative journalism that would suture my wormwood, but here I sit; it also in its own way obfuscates the truth, or lack thereof, of humans trapped in these celebrity casements. I'll leave you there this morning.