Sublime

Two languages cancel each other out, suggests Barthes, beckoning a third. Sometimes our words are few and far between, or simply ghosted.

‘Dorian Gray’.

Even in a body’s most private moments, something else joins in. Someone spoke to her when she was dead.

That immaculate manliness we feel within ourselves, so far within us, that it remains intact though all the outer character seem gone; bleeds with keenest anguish at the undraped spectacle of a valor-ruined man.

Leopold Bloom imagines his impotent manhood in the bathwater and calls it the limp father of thousands. And then I thought, if I was smart enough to quote James Joyce in the bathtub, why did I feel so stupid in front of these girls? Finally, one of the twins walked in. I’d been hoping for both, but beggars can’t be choosers. With my back to her, I