Arg, this is some fucking murder, this fucking ‘play’, the fevered dream of nonsense. If I had been Joyce’s editor I would have crammed the whole book up his arse sideways.

Oh, I ‘get’ it, alright, we all ‘get’ it, but it’s uninteresting, over-long, and isn’t speaking to anyone – it’s a lot more words little different than the Latin he makes fun of in the church used to ‘dazzle’ the soft minded.

Train wreck