Who is it Tell me His name

Oh these weeks have been mind AND body hogging. Constantly reading, devouring texts for my Colloquium. The day after I leave for San Francisco. Then I have about a week - if I pass my Colloquium - to finish all the other three research papers and portfolio. Ep. Everything works out in time. Although I am a mad lady in the mind. Not so sure whether I have been taking the Colloquium too seriously oooor not enough. Whatever it is, it happens. As for today I read St. Augustine's Confessions Book X Memory, Samuel Beckett's Not I, The Unnamable, Cascando (But the entire reader is damn good and I need to seriously get in on that). I also finished Molly Bloom's soliloquy the last interior-scope in the final pages of Ulysses by Joyce. Yesterday was Lacan. And tonight I need to try and get a move on Plato's Phaedrus. So many words, so many texts referring me to other texts, other words, other poems, other quotes I need now always to share. I watched a PHENOMENAL video from Philoctetes Center Multidisplinary Study of Imagination with a panel (Arina Abramovic, Paul Campos, Sander Gilman, Marcel Kinsbourne, and Sabine Wilhelm) on The Body and Its Image. These issues merged with the study of my Colloquium The Desire to be in The Other has made me more aware, most awake. It has all been just before my very eyes. I feel like I've been reduced to terms, like I've been in an analyst's hot seat for months - days that don't die - and now I get it. And soon I will have to see if I can articulate it, reveal what I've done and how, yes, the clues have been laid out for me all along. I feel good. But extremely worn out. Too much school work I fear I'll never finish, but regardless I will, crazed and insufficiently. The ol' group went to Miami for the weekend and I couldn't go. A first. Miss that sort of pleasure. Went out for a bottle of wine Thursday, she even said I talk differently, hold my body differently as I speak in Miami. It made her sad and that made me sad. But it all really shouldn't be a sad thing. It isn't. I've accomplished a lot here. But yes, I'm just trying to meet deadlines always. Manic exhaustion, I admit. Can't wait for kisses and all of that and that and this and such makes me feel immediately well again. I can't wait to feel good. I can't wait to begin living again. To be a yes girl and not a no. Which leads me right into Joyce's Ulysses. He believed "Yes" was the female's word. The final chapter is referred to as "Penelope", after Molly's mythical counterpart (OTHER). One major difference between Molly and Penelope is that while Penelope is eternally faithful, Molly is not, having an affair with Hugh 'Blazes' Boylan after ten years of her celibacy within the marriage. On that note, this soliloquy is the damn funniest thing I have ever read - erotic, crude, the whole nine yards - it is damn good. I will include some of the passages from all the works at someone time but for now:

After that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldn't answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know.

I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

James Joyce, Ulysses: Molly Bloom