Went to bed last night in the midnight with great intention and thought. Woke up this morning, with great intention and thought, late. 10 Am. Thinking about who woke up late in Ulysses. Only Molly. Guess that’s me. Moved my bowels with great intention (though mostly I was reading the newspaper.) Poured my breakfast cereal and coffee with great intention as I again mostly read the newspaper. Had a moment to myself, with great intention. Went searching for my wallet, on every surface of the house. Got in the old Corolla automobile, and drove up Church Road and Glenside Avenue, listening to the news about the Gulf Coast Oil Catastrophe for a moment, then turning it off. Driving down Easton Road, and watching Glenside become Roslyn, and a very nice suburb become more of a middle class one — came to the Willow Grove Mall, and thought about FK and my father’s story of going to that place when it was an abandoned amusement park, no mall, and finding a beautiful ancient ornate cash register that weighed a thousand tons and having it stolen — unclear if I thought about that whole story at the time or just the Park, and my young father and his friend — and then went to the Food Court and walked around a bit in a daze and a dream looking briefly at teenage girls who are too young, uninterested in them, really, it is the young mothers — some beauty there — and watching an old couple, so old, walk across the Food Court to the exit doors, slowly, so slowly, he leaning on her, one step at a time, the great love — and then looking at others, eating, talking, a man with his baby, and then walking walking trying to find shorts to buy shorts to wear Gap, then J Crew, then Macy’s, oh yes, bought coffee, gave the cashier a winning smile, she can sort of see the gazey dream I’m walking in, walked behind a beautiful girl for a moment, while I was riding the escalator down in Macy’s, the sun burst through the clouds and the skylight and I looked up at it, bright, and there was a makeup girl doing a girl’s makeup, and all her coworkers had gathered around to watch, and the makeup girl was smiling, and I watched a young boy and his mother look briefly at shorts, it is hard to pick out shorts, I know what you’re going through, and then left, and drove home, and turned on the music, and it was Frightened Rabbit, a Scottish Band a girl played for me one morning after I woke up in her bed this past February, and they played a wonderful song about breaking up, about seething with anger when your ex-lover winds up with someone new, but nevertheless, it didn’t seem that angry, it was just beautiful, my windows were rolled down, I thought about the girl/woman who I had spent time with and wanted to write her a letter, a message, something Bloomsday related, but got home, and didn’t, don’t know what to say, she is online, could chat with her now, I prefer the asynchronous, were catching up with the present here, my brother is downstairs yelling for some reason — on the telephone — deep dull — mean to him — what else — the clouds have returned — it is 3:30, ancient time when elementary school ended, played hooky today from myself and responsibilities — Torts — I know what a Tort is — let it go — a pint, a guinness, I am fucking this up, I am foam on waves — see the ocean — wanted to drive out and see the ocean — oh oh — oh oh — a book came for me today — Wittgenstein’s Mistress, by an author who just died, oops, Fell off the World, the way of us all, my mom’s friend died yesterday, oops, oops, Fell off the World; Caught up. Wrote this. Shakespeare is his own Grandfather. In Love’s Labour’s Lost, there’s a wit named Boyet. Old Man. Hangs with the Maidens. Sounds like someone I’ll know.
Odysseus goes to the the Hall of Maidens and finds Achilles in a dress playing with a sword. Ten years later, Odysseus is lost, and Achilles is dead. Their names have lived forever.