tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21541987756258586632024-03-12T17:56:17.756-07:00The Savage Joy of Guillermo O'JoyceA look at the writing and poetry of William Joyce (Guillermo O'Joyce ) Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-32959445718295706562019-03-04T09:04:00.000-08:002019-03-04T09:04:43.662-08:00I got an email from william yesterday. He is currently working on a new book of Poetry but he sent me a little piece on ' Tropic Of Cancer ' by Henry Miller. Now, Henry is my favourite writer ( Sorry William, You're up there, but he's number one. ) and it was through the suberb MILLER, BUKOWSKI AND THEIR ENEMIES 2nd edition that I came across William's writing. I cannot recommend that book more highly. It changed me a great deal. The reason I read it was because it was about Henry Miller and in fairness I think William hits the nail on the head in any essay he writes about him. This is only a snippet of a piece but is as they say right on the money.<br />
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Uncle Henry</div>
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"It is getting toward dinner time and people are straggering back to their rooms with that weary, dejected air which comes from earning a living honestly." And later, "They might as well be lunatics."</div>
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This one line explains why Tropic of Cancer was banned for 27 years. We can't have 100 million people alert as to why they are so miserable. They'd quit beating on junior or the missus and smash all the machines in the street. In one sentence Miller proves why reform will never work, why no institution can ever be propped up. Now we know why humans need scapegoats, why mobs will eventually take to the streets, and why they will be mowed down by machine gun fire. </div>
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It is a line so obvious that I have to wonder why no one said it before. But no one did. It is a line that every human has experienced but not a single human articulated. Jobs! What a joke. Eliminate the job and you get a semblance of sanity. In the same instant you eliminate Karl Marx and replace him with the Marx Brothers. You ditch Adam Smith and Alexander Hamilton, Napoleon and Socrates. Enter sunshine, step forward leisure time, music, reading, consultation with the consciense, all because of the breath of a single line of language.</div>
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The men who banned Tropic of Cancer were the same men who paid hookers $20.00 an hour to give them a little relief. They were the pillars of society but the janitors who prop up scaffolding against the pillars to keep them from falling down. They wore white shirts and neckties and swore by the gospel of respectability by which they meant the inherent corruptibility of the human body which they labeled filth. And not a single intellectual was going to stand up to them.</div>
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Miller has been dead for forty years but he is less known today than he was in 1961. Now, 2019, we live in a time when rancor steams from every other face and the great nations, once again, are ready to fry each other. All this because 10 billion people turned their back on one line of one man long forgotten. Let blood run in the gutters.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-19306949809055279532017-10-18T12:38:00.002-07:002017-10-18T12:40:23.545-07:00GOOD NEWS FROM THE WHITE HOUSE<div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif, serif, EmojiFont; font-size: 15px;">
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GOOD NEWS FROM THE WHITE HOUSE</div>
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FIRST LADY ADOPTS FIRST BORN OF AN ASS</div>
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First Lady, Melania Trump, announced today that thanks to Guillermo O'Joyce's novel, First Born of an Ass, her bowels are moving again.</div>
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Proctologist M.D. Vincent Obias confirmed that for the last month he has been treating the First Lady for what he termed "severe blockage of the upright colon."</div>
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Dr. Obias said this condition was due to the unusually rich diet conferred upon the gastric system by formal state dinners. Such a diet left Melania Trump's rump virtually useless because of chronic constipation.</div>
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"Partly it's the rigidity of State protocol where you have to be on your best behaviour. Mix this with stately food--lobster a la creme, leeks vinaigrette, pate de fois, and you have a classic case of rectal non-gratis. The poor lady couldn't shit," vouched the emminent proctologist.</div>
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When the usual treatment of massage and laxatives didn't work, Dr. Obias prescribed Guillermo O'Joyce's First Born of an Ass whose hero, Gorm, has a similar condition because of assumptions of power. </div>
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After reading 50 pages of First Born, the First Lady said she got the giggles. This giggling produced a jiggling in the lower intestines and lo and behold a ker-plop, ker-plunk, ker-plop. As the news of Melania's triumph reached the West Wing of the White House, there was spontaneous applause. The Trumps had been grumpy the last month. </div>
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"It's a goofy novel," she said, "but it got the old innards going." She said she was going to have a talk with her husband whom she felt had a similar condition. Dr. Obias confirmed what the White House had labeled as "fake news" that numerous foreign leaders had complained about "gas" issuing from the Trump area of the dining table. But now, thanks to First Born of an Ass, that GAS can't be blamed on the First Lady.</div>
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A signed copy of the novel will be auctioned in December at Christie's in New York City. Bidding is expected to reach the six-figure mark.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-40824404848727885492017-09-20T11:14:00.000-07:002017-09-20T11:14:34.031-07:00A Brief Bullet Point History Of William Joyce's Career <div style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif, serif, EmojiFont; font-size: 15px;">
One, I am the only writer to expose the fact that a major publisher, Simon & Schuster, was out to totallly discredit a major writer of indelible veracity--Henry Miller--by handing $80, 000 to a feminist to attack his reputation from every fashionable angle. </div>
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Two, I am the only writer to expose the world's largest publisher, Random House, for publishing a biography of a writer (Bukowski) whose work they had consistently rejected during his lifetime. The object of Random House---make money and do it without the least ethical concern.</div>
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Three, In the last 50 years, I am the only writer whose writing (poem---In This World of Terror and Pig-Headed Conmen) made a university (Univ. of Utah) publicly ban a world-prominent scholarly magazine.-- Western Humanities Review. Public record--- Winter, 1975, Salt Lake City Tribune, Univ. of Utah student newspaper.</div>
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Four, I am the only writer to expose Harper's Magazine, the leading intellectual journal in the U.S., and its editor Lewis Lapham for conciously burying evidence of the corruption and total breakdown of the U.S. literary industry.</div>
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In none of the 4 above exposes did I get a single letter of support from any of the one million professional writers in the U.S.</div>
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Five, I am the only writer in the last 50 years to criticize the New York Times Book Reviewing system. (American Book Review, 1983). My reward: The Times Sunday Book Review in March, 1990, hired a recently defrocked Jesuit priest to review my scatalogical novel, First Born of an Ass. In a tape-recorded interview, this reviewer told me that he had said to the Times that he didn't want to review First Born and couldn't they please find someone else. He claimed he was told by The Times that if he wanted future reviewing assignments to hurry up with the review of my novel. The ex-Jesuit priest wrote that First Born of an Ass had no redeeming qualities and never should have been printed. The Sunday NYTimes Book Review is the leading book-review outlet in the world. It is the major guide that bookstore managers and librarians use to fill their shelves.</div>
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Kurt Vonnegut wrote me, "The Times should not have published that review."</div>
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Twenty-eight other leading U.S. novelists had the novel and the Times' review and did not respond.</div>
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6. Repercussions: In April, 2013, Robert Loomis, head of Random House from 1965 to 2012, walked into RH with the manuscript of my latest novel, Portrait of the Artist as a Young Pyromaniac. He handed it to his successor, Andrew Ward. Loomis had written me in 1994, "Believe me, I wish I had had the sense, or perception, or instinct, to publish First Born of an Ass when it was submitted here (1983)." Ward wrote me a month later, saying that he had enjoyed my manuscript but gave no reason for rejecting it.</div>
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7. The only writer ever fired by an arts council (Pennsylvania) for reading an objectionable poem (In This World of Terror) to a group of fellow poets in the program, 1977. Public record: the files of Senator Lloyd Bentsen, Democrat, Texas, who challenged the PA Council on the Arts as well as the National Endowment for the Arts and says neither organization would answer his phone calls.</div>
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8. The only writer who exposed corruption within the system of literary agenting. Pages l47--162, MBE, 2nd edition.</div>
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9. The only writer since the McCarthy era to have his work confiscated by the FBI. Previous allies of mine--typesetters, printers, employers--were threatened by FBI agents who visited them.</div>
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10. The only writer to expose chronic corruption within states' arts councils and literary prize systems, essays l978 to 1990.</div>
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11. Only writer to challenge the poetry hierarchy led by Stanley Kunitz which controlled major prizes in poetry. essays 1983 to 1990.</div>
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12. Only U.S. writer to establish connection between U.S. foreign policy and its literary apologists. Several foreign writers had done it, among them Luis Buñel and Eduardo Galeano. In shor, the arts in the U.S. exists only to prop up an evil and vicious empire which has trashed 90% of the planet.</div>
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All this may seem petty given the suffering in the world but for 20 centuries stories and poems were the mediums through which humans learned what was appropriate and what wasn't. Now nobody acts appropriately.</div>
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13. The key in all this is a single poem, So You Still Want to Talk. Written in 1987, it simply says that language has been trashed. It no longer functions. But if you read closely Giono's essays or Rimbaud's poetry, language may have been dead long before. Except in a few islands words are dead things. There is no point in talking, in writing. That's why Miller wrote his most important book, Time of the Assassins-----the butchers have taken over because words have failed. Best to cheer them on and hope that some day they enter the sacred confines of Random House. Humans are better off dead. </div>
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14. I am the only writer in the world who had fun.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-84363736560441013012017-03-16T13:42:00.000-07:002017-03-16T13:42:02.237-07:00Common GroundsA few Saturdays ago I was sitting with a bad, bad hangover in one of my favourite bars at half ten in the morning. I always say a man should have at least three pubs he uses. The one where everyone knows you drink. The one where you go when you want to avoid people. And finally and most importantly, the one where no one knows you even know exists, but each and every person inside knows you by first name and choice of pint.<br />
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I was in the third kind. A dank and musty church that thinks it's a bar but in reality is home to men of a certain age and background. I'm of a certain age and background too, and so happy as Larry I sat watching my pint of Beamish settle while my stomach turned over and my temples tried to rehydrate themselves by squeezing liquid from my brain.<br />
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Though my head ached, emotionally I was feeling a deep sense of well being. The type which can only be experienced by a working man who has avoided a day of toil. I had avoided a day of toil by ringing in sick. And duty done I headed to John Brown's. The dark suited me. I needed some 'Me' time. That time whereby I ignore my future by blocking out the present with large amounts of a depressive substance masquerading as something that cheers you up. It 's not a bright idea or that original but it certainly seems popular in Dublin in certain circles.<br />
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It's not that common for a woman to be there in the morning. I think they have a proper sense of the place, maybe more accurate, so I hadn't noticed this person while I said hello to the regulars. She was loud though. Very loud for that time and space. Thin as a rake compared to the beer guts all around and hyper aware as opposed to sunk in drudgery of mindless indolence. Her laugh was abrasive and unforgiving and from the moment I noticed her she never shut up. She harangued, she jided, she fully partook in the whole bar. She shouted conversation down from one end of the room to the other. She wasn't funny and there was an edge to the tone she struck. Don't get me wrong, she was among people she knew and knew well but..... She was wrecking everyone's head. I could see it and I knew what effect it was having on me. And then I thought "I know this sentiment from somewhere" and so here is a new poem from William Joyce<br />
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FAT GIRLS GET SERVED FIRST<br />
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Three of them at a back table</div>
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boisterous</div>
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as garbagemen</div>
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at 6 a.m.</div>
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The one's laughter</div>
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would curdle the blood</div>
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of a Chinese wrestler.</div>
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They talk about toenails,</div>
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pricks, dogs in heat</div>
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in voices so loud</div>
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the other diners</div>
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shrink</div>
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into themselves.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This is a restaurant </div>
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of long tableclothes</div>
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where diners have been taught</div>
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discretion</div>
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at age 6.</div>
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The manager follows</div>
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the waitress</div>
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into the kitchen.</div>
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"Serve those fat girls</div>
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right away</div>
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and get them out of here."</div>
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Through mounds of food</div>
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in their mouths</div>
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the fat girls never let up.</div>
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They talk and chortle,</div>
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talk and chortle.</div>
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They are quite aware</div>
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they are irritants.</div>
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That's why they got fat,</div>
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got loud, got vulgar</div>
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to irritate </div>
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respectable citizenry</div>
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wherever they go,</div>
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to be served first</div>
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then show their appreciation</div>
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by burping</div>
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in unison. </div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-74989882636459709652017-02-10T13:28:00.001-08:002017-02-10T13:28:42.243-08:00<h2>
Miller Time-- On Henry Miller</h2>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px;">" Henry Miller is not a writer; he’s a friend you turn to when your apartment walls close in on you and all the world begins to stink. When you’re most exasperated, Miller is there with his alternately cajoling, absurd, sincere, outraged, sage-like, funny voice, ruminating and gassing in a calm way. Miller’s voice always comes from the quietest corner of the bar. The rest of the occupants are slaughtering each other, offering polemical speeches, toasting their various diseases, and gouging their own thighs and arms with their fingernails in an effort to rid themselves of the itch of being truly alive. Unlike his distant cousin Céline, Miller never gets clobbered by these barroom brawlers. He gets close enough to the action to observe the lice and the whispered endearments between blows, but he never gets whacked by a piece of flying furniture. “Don’t struggle; get in the flow,” he advises in book after book. Much of this “flow” for Miller is in the flotsam – all sorts of deranged and eccentric characters – who are both more lively and can tell us more about life than comfortable citizens at the center. He doesn’t see the same divisions the rest of us have been taught to see. Wealthy hoarders or bourgeoisie hoarders may be deplorable, but the feeling I get after 30 years of browsing through Miller is that he’d knocked aside all compartmentalization; he would sit down for a meal with anybody who was unaffected and learn from him, provided of course that the companion sprung for the meal. Miller is the greatest of all freeloaders, surpassing even that other Joyce."...............</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px;">This is the opening lines from the opening essay in "MILLER , BUKOWSKI AND THEIR ENEMIES " (2nd Edition) Quite simply one of the best and most invigorating books you could ever read. Guillermo/William </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px;">writes with passion, integrity ,fire, passion and a whole lot of bile about a range of writers he loves and the industry he has plenty of reason to despise. It is magnificent.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px;">Go buy it. You won't regret it.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 15px;">It's available on Kindle too. </span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-50285064960683624482017-02-02T04:36:00.000-08:002017-02-02T04:36:25.288-08:00The Trump EffectI can't turn on the TV or Radio now without having to put up with one man. Donald J Trump. The whole world seems hypnotised by his every act and word. I'm no Trump advocate (He clearly is dangerous on certain points) but no one seems to be able to find anyone who supports him to talk to. It reminds me of the post crash Ireland where I could not find one person who had ever (Ever, ever) voted for Fianna Foul. The non presence of ordinary people who happen to agree with 'The Wall' or 'The Muslim Ban' says a lot about both the political climate and the quality of a lot of mainstream media who have an agenda of their own to push. The visceral anger I see not only on television but as I walk and live on the streets of Dublin seems to me to be in at least some sense false. <div>
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I mean it seems to cloak a rage at almost everything in life and Trump is just an easy, open, acceptable target to voice off against. Those who I do find who apologetically say "Trump is kinda right" or who immediately go on a rant about 'Foreigners' or 'Bankers' also seem to be using the 'Trump' brand as leverage to vent some spleen. This crippling modern western system of living never gets a mention. </div>
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The fact that the man or woman next to you may be struggling too never gets a mention. Forget politics, that man there, that woman there, maybe even that child there is probably experiencing something akin to how you feel. We all seem to ignore that simple human truth.</div>
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William Joyce never ignores the Human. He is no fan of the 'Mob' as he often calls it, in fact I can't think of many who rage as hard against it as he does, or so successfully guards his personal borders, and I know on this issue he would tell me to "Go for a swim and forget about it" but it is his very humanity which draws me in. He sees those that struggle even in the heart of all the glitter and can't tolerate those who don't. He'll give you a chance but forget you as quickly if you don't grasp it with both hands. He is for and with the outsider, be that a Trump outsider or an AntiTrump outsider. It's a rare gift from a rare man. </div>
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Go read him.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-58142949696058790832017-01-08T12:55:00.000-08:002017-01-08T12:55:23.762-08:00Over the month of December I was down with a virus infection which left me struggling to concentrate or even breathe. I went through Christmas and The New Year in a reduced state and to be honest for the first time in a long, long time I didn't even read.<br />
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In the opening days of 2017 I looked in amazement at the vast amount of wasted energy spent on trying to carve up your enemy ( Whoever that is ), attach mud to whatever story took your fancy, justify by logic or brute force or just plain old lie whatever narrative suited the little human corner of the Universe you call your own while laughing at everyone else's hopes and fears. I then remembered that I don't have to play that game.<br />
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If the consequences of the sad tawdry little mess wasn't so terrible on an individual and a Human level, If I didn't see broken children and broken adults every where I look on the streets I walk and the television I see, Well I might just give up all hope.<br />
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But I don't, because I think if we all listen to our bodies, learn to laugh a little more, walk the streets with a smile and an eye for play and appreciate the men and women we see each day, well then things in some small way may get better. <br />
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In those moments as always I turn to William Joyce to make me smile and think. The first thing I found was this and it did both ................<br />
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GIRLS AND THEIR TERRIBLE TITS<br />
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<br />
All the girls have big tits now,<br />
and they use them to mow men down.<br />
Howitzer tits, tits with an aim<br />
in life, they got this weaponry<br />
from steroids in the beef<br />
but not all the girls are beefy.<br />
Some are as slender as celery stalks<br />
but they have these burgeoning,<br />
over-sized, obtrusive tits.<br />
Along with the chin, the tits<br />
are pushed out in front<br />
somewhere between a prim pout<br />
and purposeful arrogance.<br />
Make no mistake about it,<br />
these tits are embossed with power<br />
not pleasure. First promoted<br />
by admen in a titless society<br />
to sell soap, the tits have grown<br />
with the economy. No longer<br />
tender paps for nurturing<br />
but bountiful busts for bullying,<br />
tits lead the way through crowds,<br />
take charge of committee meetings,<br />
assault the 7th Circuit Court of Appeals<br />
with writs of complaint that their tits<br />
were groped in a crowded park.<br />
The symbol of sex and a healthy economy,<br />
the tit has come loose from it's moorings.<br />
Tits don't want to be used by anybody---<br />
not men, nor babies, nor pitch men<br />
for Hollywood; tits want their own leverage,<br />
their own comfort zone<br />
free from pawing hands and grasping mouths.<br />
And they get it as they soar<br />
across the sky- a nipple and a cape--<br />
the first SuperTit-- and all<br />
the stratojets make way for it. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-8902099438324884662016-12-01T14:00:00.002-08:002016-12-01T14:00:48.493-08:00AleppoAny one with a television or a tablet or phone can feed on whats going on in Syria, and to be honest what you see reflects what you believe. William Joyce has always been a fierce critic of the hypocrisy of the ' Civilized ' world and the personal responsibilities we all share. He sent me this small incendiary and I think it reflects him thoroughly................<br />
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Aleppo is symbolic of the Western powers futility to help innocent people being bombed. Aleppo highlights the uselessness of the entire liberal, gooey Western mentality of alliances, the U.N., NATO, the universities from which they all hail, the quicksand of the language they use each day. 2,000 children had their legs or arms blown off. If the European nations or Canada and the U.S. had any validity, this never would have happened.</div>
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Aleppo is also proof that that the bourgeoisie don't care what happens as long as it doesn't affect their cappuccinos. That battered city in Syria is final proof that might is right and the hell with language that might save the arms and legs of children. What can any parent in Europe or North AMERCIA say to their own children when they ask, "Why did so many children have to die in Aleppo?" </div>
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But the fact is that the children of Cappuccino Lickers are coached from day one not to ask such questions. <span class="contextualExtensionHighlight ms-font-color-themePrimary ms-border-color-themePrimary ident_1030_1145" role="button" style="border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; border-color: rgb(0, 120, 215); color: #0078d7; cursor: pointer;" tabindex="0">The issue of Aleppo or why children anywhere go to bed hungry doesn't come up at the dinner table or in classrooms.</span> Children are coached to play the group game, to deny their individual consciences so they can begin an ascendancy toward a BMW and a home in the suburbs and fuck anybody in need. This they learn for group approval by age 10.</div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"> What should have been done? Very simple, organize and march on the streets. The streets are now used for everything else. Do not allow the stock markets to march their merry way till the children of Aleppo are escorted to safety. This should have been done a year ago. Now it is too late. Aleppo is then an announcement at the end of the civilized world, of the absolute futility of all of its institutions. It is an announcement that soda pop and guns won out over Voltaire, Homer, and Miles Davis.</span> Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-44784714709255197622016-11-25T09:33:00.003-08:002016-11-25T09:33:55.746-08:00Michael Kruger's Benediction by William Joyce<div style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
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Publisher Michael Krüger's Benediction, June, 2013</div>
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"I have no explanation for the fact that modern societies have invested tons of money into schools and universities only to find that horrible books are much more loved than the good ones."</div>
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This was probably not the first time that Krüger mentioned the decay of the book world. Why didn't some magazine, some reporter pick up on this? Why didn't the better writers of Europe rally to Krüger's defense? Why didn't some TV station make a two-hour program around a panel of European intellectuals? Krüger tried to make a fuss about something that needs answering. TV programming is 98% shit, why not have something nutricious?</div>
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Because. if Krüger is right, those with the least sensitivity to language are dominating language. That means the best writers, the best publishers, best reviewers are being trashed. It raises, in turn, another question: should people be offered language at all??</div>
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It remains, then, for good writers, sensitive readers to ask what shoiuld be done? Should someone start a bomb school for discontented writers and publishers?</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-87282623114190819472016-11-21T08:16:00.000-08:002016-11-21T08:16:09.351-08:00A reply to Fintan O'Toole by a 75 year old American Poet living in Guatemala <div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
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There was much controversy in the election of Donald Trump as future president of America. I thought I'd seen it all until I witnessed the rage and protest of the mob not getting their own way.</div>
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The educated masses are in bewilderment, the liberal elite aghast and the racists and the xenophobes are out in gleeful mood. Ireland's own Fintan O'Toole wrote an excellent piece on his view and our own William Joyce replied. </div>
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Letter to Fintan O'Toole of the Irish Times</div>
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Guillermo O'Joyce</div>
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Antigua, Guatemala</div>
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Dear Fintan O'Toole,</div>
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Thank you for your fluid and far-reaching perspective on King Donald the XIV. But His Majesty would never have gotten into a position of running for Power if he hadn't been worshiped because he had Money. And money is nothing, a dreary medium of exchange inflated to Godhead. And the people who have it are Zeroes, dull personalities turned to vultures, who can't sing a song nor tell a story. Worse, they have no ability to listen to a story nor sit still for a song.</div>
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What is called an Upset in Politics is nothing more than a Mirror Reflection of a lot of people outside the power centers crying out for revenge against the college-educated power brokers. And whether they are from the Rural Areas, the college towns, or the derelict cities, they all share the same phenomena: they eat bad food, drink bad liquids, and gulp each day an astounding array of pharmaceutical pills. The U.S. is a nation of junkies, a desert whose soul jumped into a gear box in 1998. </div>
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Had Donald Duck or Chauncy the Gardener been elected President of the U.S. it wouldn't have mattered. None of the 100 million voters got up this morning and praised the amazing miracle of the hydraulics of their intestines that ushered mounds of shit into the toilet bowl thus granting them Resurrection. No! One group is celebrating a defunct Casino Manager while the other group is now on the streets protesting his ascendancy. It is only a pretense this protest on the streets. What this mob is really upset about is their mother's advice: "It's not What you know but Who you know." </div>
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The college professors enforced Mother's advice by preparing their wee charges for exams, not Life. Now the suck-asses from the colleges and the cities are flailing in all directions, blaming their lack of direction on a pathetic ex-groper who's in shock now that he's running the show, in shock that he may have to redeposit all his caustic remarks into the vault of the always-neutral Money Machine to be laundered like the real estate funds that vaulted him to power. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If language can't spare the children of Aleppo, Laos, India, and South Chicago, it is Nothing more than a front for the Bullies to lubricate their Killing Machines. Get rid of it. Let's have silence while we wait for the bombs to fall. Let the bodies pile up. Give the birds and the stray cats and the streams a chance to breath. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Finally, none of this is new. It is only a reminder of what an Irish poet said in 1916: "The worst are full of passionate intensity while the best lack all conviction."</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-9884814506851835742016-11-09T13:07:00.002-08:002016-11-09T13:07:49.445-08:00Donald Trump<br />
<br />
I woke up today to find Donald Trump the President Elect of America and if I only looked at the Media I would think that the world had ended. I read the intelligent comments of some, the complete paranoia of others and the self serving hypocrisy of others.<br />
<br />
As always I looked to what William would think ?<br />
<br />
And here is what he had to say.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Trump was a victory for Fat People over Skinny People. These were the people who were ditched, by even their mothers, and took up Ready Whip on top of their jello, whose pizzas have all the toppings.</span><div style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
It was the Fat People who finally highlighted the blatant hypocrisy and loss of reality of the intellectual crowd-----pollsters, reporters, publishers,professors, researchers. Fat people sat on the heads of the pundits and Hillary's army of curly-haired ungroped hellions at private girls' schools wept into their manicured palms. How could the world be so cruel?</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #212121; font-family: wf_segoe-ui_normal, "Segoe UI", "Segoe WP", Tahoma, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">Trump should reward his ferocious squadrons of Fat People from the Rural Areas by putting one million of them in his inaugural parade. And give each one a pizza, WITH ALL THE TOPPINGS. </span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-80996473895020954492016-10-25T15:59:00.001-07:002016-10-25T15:59:52.885-07:00Knowing Your Audience<br />
<br />
Knowing Your Audience<br />
<br />
I got this superb poem just a few hours ago from William in Guatemala and I have to say it shows all the sense of play, and at the same time the incredible steely understanding I associate with his work.<br />
He says it emerged out of " A fiasco at coffee bar "<br />
<br />
Enjoy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Know Your Audience<br />
<br />
<br />
That's what everyone<br />
told me<br />
when I confessed<br />
I read a poem<br />
about a dental assistant<br />
mounting me<br />
when I was wigged out<br />
on novocane<br />
to some bouncy girls<br />
who were Born Again Christians.<br />
<br />
I don't know<br />
if my poem<br />
made these trumpeters<br />
for Jesus<br />
hot<br />
or they just shucked me<br />
off<br />
as one more sinner<br />
in need<br />
of reform.<br />
<br />
What I do know<br />
is that if I ever<br />
took the time<br />
to really know<br />
my audience<br />
I wouldn't write<br />
at all.<br />
I would cut through<br />
all ambiguity<br />
all prejudice<br />
all interpretation<br />
by buying an AK-47.<br />
<br />
The history books would<br />
mention<br />
in footnotes<br />
that poetry finally<br />
found a way<br />
to reach<br />
the masses.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
With the permission of William Joyce <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-58170289093792772172016-10-19T12:35:00.000-07:002016-10-19T12:35:23.420-07:00 The Truth<br />
<br />
<br />
Everyone has it:<br />
on the streets laughing<br />
with friends at age 8,<br />
or in the woods,<br />
farm fields.<br />
Life then was the joy<br />
of the moment<br />
and lively companions,<br />
sunlight , inventiveness.<br />
<br />
We lose all this:<br />
a hammer comes down--<br />
obey, obey, obey.<br />
The eyes lose their glow,<br />
the shoulders their suppleness,<br />
the hips their swing.<br />
50 years later we wonder<br />
where it all went ?<br />
At age 8 we could have<br />
learned anything,<br />
been anybody,<br />
done anything.<br />
<br />
At age 8 we were<br />
so tricky,<br />
so beautiful,<br />
so undaunted,<br />
all of civilization<br />
could have fit<br />
in our right front pocket,<br />
the one with the hole in it.<br />
<br />
At age 8 we should have<br />
had a loving affair<br />
every three weeks.<br />
At age 8 we were<br />
pure juice.<br />
<br />
Quit talking.<br />
Learn to sing<br />
or play<br />
on a garbage can top.<br />
Or just listen<br />
and learn to love<br />
the silences.<br />
The truth is still there,<br />
somewhere.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
With the permission of William JoyceAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-84508548612203174622016-10-17T02:46:00.001-07:002016-10-17T02:46:23.559-07:00 Richard Godwin Interviews William Joyce<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
William Has gone to Guatemala where his life can be lead with more peace and of course where his limited financial resources can be used more effectively. The struggle he speaks of in this fantastic interview was not an abstract one, but rather a day to day issue which made it harder to do what he does best, which is of course write. It is great to read him in full flow and I'd like to thank Richard Godwin for giving him the space to speak freely and for taking the time to go out and find a writer that should matter more than the world currently thinks appropriate. Please read the interview and of course I would urge anybody to go out and read Williams work be it his Poetry, Novel, Short stories or indeed his Criticism (Under the name Guillermo O'Joyce) I'll be putting up some more poetry and prose over the next few days.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.richardgodwin.net/blog" target="_blank">http://www.richardgodwin.net/blog</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-48428751506264807642016-09-21T14:01:00.000-07:002016-09-21T14:01:11.196-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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At Nikos Kazinstakis' tomb in CreteAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-67438570102548098092016-09-21T13:57:00.000-07:002016-09-21T13:57:10.916-07:00 Some thoughts on Zorba The Greek and First Born of An Ass <br />
<br />
Just Some thoughts after a holiday with Zorba The Greek........<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I always loved Crete, it's a special place to go and luckily for me I have just had the good fortune to spend eleven days there.<br /><br /> I always keep specific books to read when I go, and this time, amongst others, I brought Nikos Kazantzakis' 'Zorba The Greek'. I had read other pieces by him but somehow I had managed to ignore his most famous work (I know, I know, 'Last Temptation' is pretty famous too) and I'm glad I did. The book was a joy to read. It was full of life and people that even today we don't like to acknowledge or think about. The cruelty and violence and ignorance which is a reality in any newspaper pervades our little societies and we still pretend we've moved on. Damaged and wounded by our inability to look our demons in the eye we need a 'Zorba' to show us a path. Life and action instead of thinking about living our lives 'Someday' . laughter and love and music and play as essential to being free, instead of a side order to a main plate of drudgery and pain. I can't recommend it enough.<br /><br /> Of course all these ideas are the meat and drink of the work of William Joyce. I was constantly reminded of his 'First Born of An Ass' as I read. Both books possess a love of life and a playful curiosity. They both have characters that create world's where they can exist as themselves because no one else is going to do it for them, and both display a constant inventiveness and lightness of touch that mirrors the very nature of our beings given even a glimpse of a chance. Remember the joy of seeing the smile of the first person you fell in love with and tell me that life doesn't value play. Kazantzakis and Joyce value play.<br /><br /> In my opinion it is William who has gone further. The character of 'Zorba' is a man in his sixties while 'Gorm' is still just a child. Joyce pushes the boundaries of his world in an attempt to flex its reality in the face of the utter madness of contemporary society. It is reality's mirror in a similar vain to Gogol's 'Dead Souls' and in many ways just as much a tightrope walk for the Author to complete. I read reviews of 'Zorba' and many of the poor ones spoke of the sexism and violence towards women in it as if the same instances were not prevalent today. Again it is this pretence at an abstract way of living instead of looking the forces of darkness in the eye and getting sweaty for the fight. William is a 'Golden Gloves' champion of this fight. He delivers body blow after body blow in his Poetry and Prose to assumptions that I had never questioned and he has never bowed to the new gods of modern survival.<br /><br /> Nikos Kazantzakis had his fight in his day. I went to visit his tomb in his home city of Heraklion where officially no priest attended his burial ceremony and internment. He was beaten to the Nobel prize in Literature by one vote after the Greek Orthodox Church lobbied against him (Camus won for 'The Stranger') and still holds a strange place in the Greek mind.<br /><br /> William still wages war at 75. His battles don't reflect well on the treatment of Artists in the modern world or our willingness to let someone else pay the price for our own lack of courage. He writes like he fights and he plays, no half measures.<br /><br /> Read 'Zorba The Greek', read 'First Born of An Ass'. You won't regret either of themAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-42203136384717936742016-09-19T15:43:00.001-07:002016-09-19T15:43:45.076-07:00<div class="reviewText mediumText description readable" itemprop="reviewBody" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">
REVIEW OF " FOR WOMEN WHO MOAN " POETRY BOOK BY WILLIAM JOYCE</div>
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It's a rare thing in life to find courage, all the more so in the written word where too often pose and self consciousness takes the place of freedom of expression. It's highly understandable because it can be frighteningly real to show your true self to the outside world. It is the difference between someone who writes poetry and a Poet. For me William Joyce is a Poet.</div>
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Years ago I saw Keith Richards , one hand aloft playing the intro to 'Honky Tonk Woman', and I swear that even if he had no guitar the sound would have still come out of him. The Music was who he was, no barrier, no curtain, just the extraordinary ability to be exactly as he is. I had a similar experience reading 'For Women Who Moan'. It is musical and profound, funny and angry. I came away with the impression the poems forced their way out of Mr Joyce. They were born with a song of their own.</div>
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The poetry itself Spans twenty years (68-88) and covers Sex, Childhood, The mundane and Travels in Mexico and The West Indies. No review could possibly do justice to the quality of ideas, the absolute freshness of tone, the commitment to self expression or the talent of the work involved. I found its 104 pages to be as large as a continent and as small as the life of a mosquito. I had lines pop into my head in the middle of the day " A hand is its own grace " (The Lady's Departure Speech to Her Lover) and " I have traveled to your center of gravity and stepped back in amazement " ( For a Mouth That Never Resigns Itself to Sorrow ). And at night these poems have led me to think of the ubiquitous witnesses to poverty and unfairness of this life. Many times they are Children trying to sing their own songs in a world as hard as any killing machine. As Joyce himself writes " Songs always identify us for someone else's palm. That is why so many are voiceless." It takes courage to live your own life and not compromise. If we were all as brave as William Joyce or even some of the people he writes about, the world would be a quieter, saner place. It can take courage to read as well as write</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-23162160986242758572016-08-31T14:52:00.001-07:002016-08-31T14:52:14.597-07:00Les Edgerton on Writing: THE BEST BOOK I'VE EVER READ<a href="http://lesedgertononwriting.blogspot.com/2016/05/the-best-book-ive-ever-read.html?spref=bl">Les Edgerton on Writing: THE BEST BOOK I'VE EVER READ</a>: Hi folks, This is the best book I've ever read. REVIEW FIRST BORN OF AN ASS William Joyce I’ve never written a review like this...Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-62163555882830152882016-08-31T13:09:00.001-07:002016-08-31T13:09:26.685-07:00Now This is what I call.......This is what I call book collection.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pBTnLjv6-eA/V8c5KlPL9ZI/AAAAAAAAACE/H3otCNJxbMc7QJFAseetUn12uDfGKgijQCK4B/s1600/William%2BBooks%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pBTnLjv6-eA/V8c5KlPL9ZI/AAAAAAAAACE/H3otCNJxbMc7QJFAseetUn12uDfGKgijQCK4B/s320/William%2BBooks%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-9536943947677559422016-08-24T11:37:00.003-07:002016-08-24T11:37:34.126-07:00MONEYWith the permission of William Joyce<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
MONEY<br />
<br />
Money is the last line<br />
of defense<br />
before we hit hatred.<br />
With money we can<br />
still pretend<br />
there is hope.<br />
On Friday we can<br />
still dance<br />
to shitty music<br />
after someone has handed us<br />
our shitty money<br />
for a weeks work<br />
of producing shit.<br />
<br />
God bless money !<br />
Our children are coached<br />
to kiss its ass.<br />
And our children<br />
fall asleep<br />
before they are 20.<br />
<br />
The hills and valleys too<br />
dream of money<br />
and are scooped into subdivisions<br />
to cradle our childrens' children.<br />
And when the trees are planted<br />
they dream also of money<br />
growing in the fifty feet<br />
of emptiness<br />
between them and the next sapling.<br />
<br />
Everywhere in every country<br />
it is money, money, money, money.<br />
Don't you dare ask<br />
anyone to sing a good song.<br />
Money strangles throats<br />
and the airwaves;<br />
there is no real voice<br />
from Nova Scotia to Patagonia.<br />
<br />
To break the bondage of money<br />
parents put their children in a car.<br />
They go to Mt. Rushmore<br />
where the Mormon Tabernacle Choir<br />
is singing, "Hallelujah, hallelujah<br />
oh money, more money, hallelujah,"<br />
and Washington winks at Lincoln<br />
and Lincoln winks at Roosevelt,<br />
and Jefferson smiles<br />
at having hidden his Black concubine<br />
in the attic,<br />
while the deer in the bush<br />
weep<br />
at the horror of it all.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-25141218695856382742016-08-22T11:17:00.001-07:002016-08-22T11:17:42.675-07:00 <br />
With the permission of William Joyce<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
My Career With the N.Y. Times<br />
<br />
<br />
When the balding professor waved<br />
the N.Y. Times at our class<br />
and said, " All the news<br />
that's fit to print, "<br />
I said to myself,<br />
"I'll write all the news<br />
that's not fit to print."<br />
<br />
<br />
I did and was rejected<br />
everywhere till Oakes came along.<br />
Oakes' real name was "Ochs"<br />
and he was about to inherit<br />
several millions of N.Y. Times' money.<br />
He was assistant<br />
to a famous publisher<br />
and had arrived<br />
at a state of rebellion<br />
through reading.<br />
<br />
<br />
Oakes hated everywhere<br />
he'd ever been<br />
including Paris and New Orleans<br />
but thought the talking turds<br />
in my novel were just the thing<br />
to shake up the publishing industry.<br />
<br />
<br />
He arranged for the famous publisher<br />
to buy my novel<br />
but the famous publisher drank a lot<br />
and forgotten he'd sold<br />
his famous press to an oil heiress.<br />
So, he sent Oakes and my novel<br />
to an old buddy publisher<br />
from their Paris days.<br />
<br />
<br />
The old buddy didn't like Oakes<br />
nor the talking turds<br />
in my novel.<br />
Oakes smelled the end coming,<br />
and with access<br />
to the family newspaper,<br />
gave an interview<br />
in which he said<br />
publishers were no different<br />
than shoe salesmen.<br />
<br />
<br />
Bye bye Oakes, bye bye<br />
my novel.<br />
So I headed south<br />
to Mexico with a grand<br />
Oakes lent me<br />
to write more news<br />
that was unfit to print.<br />
<br />
<br />
I promptly caught hepatitis<br />
but when Oakes telephoned<br />
I told him I had used<br />
his grand to buy dancing girls.<br />
And when I arrived a year later<br />
at Dulles International<br />
Oakes had a collection agent<br />
waiting for me.<br />
<br />
<br />
For years collection agents<br />
telephoned but didn't believe me<br />
when I told them<br />
their client had been paid<br />
with talking turds.<br />
When my novel finally appeared<br />
The N.Y. Times reviewer,<br />
a Jesuit priest, said,<br />
"This novel never should have been published."<br />
while Oakes applauded<br />
from his penthouse<br />
knowing one more rebel<br />
had been squashed.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088185326390506500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2154198775625858663.post-28849501091898231612016-08-08T15:49:00.001-07:002016-08-08T15:49:22.683-07:00<pre><div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-d63ab419-55ba-0c9c-176d-2b574c6f08da" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">Guillermo O 'Joyce or William Joyce as he is sometimes known is a Poet, Novelist, Short story writer,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">Critic and Essayist. His work is brimming with passion, courage, humour, anger and creativity. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">He puts forward a lethal concoction of freedom and fun mixing the ludicrous with the real in a universe</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">as playful as it is a killer.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">"Slow down" Guillermo says, get into the groove, feel the rhythm of your own body and just play.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">Loosen up and listen to Nature or music. Laugh at the absurdity of the Mob and give yourself a </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">chance to create a place for yourself in the world.Nobody else is going to do it for you even if they</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">did care. Fight if you have to,don't be soft, but never be too hard, energy my friend, energy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">I came across Guillermo through the utterly magnificent 'Miller, Bukowski and their enemies' 2nd Edition.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">A book of critical essays as explosive as they are essential.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">The first time I read it I was blown away. The second time I got even more out of it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">I came across essays on Miller and Bukowski that I think are definitive, but I also got </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">introductions to Authors I'd never heard of and advice I never imagined I needed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">I jumped on these new leads with a vengeance because I always read.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">I started with Bohumil Hrabel's 'Too loud a Solitude', then Richard Yates 'Eleven kinds of Loneliness' on to</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">Albert Cossory, B. Traven, Jean Giono. I was in a new world. Irving Stettner put me over the edge.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">I returned to Miller like a long lost friend and saw with better informed eyes the reason he was still in</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">my head talking away five minutes after I had put his book down.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">I was shocked at how good Dick Gregory's biography was, and so at last I went looking for Guillermo's </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">other works....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">I found out he wrote as William Joyce and had a novel 'First Born of an Ass'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">A stupendous read about 'Gorm' who transforms his body (And life) through weightlifting and</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">an obsession with his own feces, all the while showing up the killing machine at the heart of US</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">steel towns of the 1950's. Our hero creating his own world because he has to, while leading us through</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">a ludicrous but wholly realistic journey to the epicentre of american values.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">I read 'The Recorder of Births and Deaths’ A collection of short stories which only impressed me</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">even more. Funny and thought provoking while looking at the shadows in life that follow us all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">The point was that one man and one book had changed how, what and why I read, had made my life</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">more enjoyable and funnier, not to mention more my own. I wrote an email to an address I found</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">just to say a well deserved thank you while expecting no reply or acknowledgement.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">A day or two later William replied and we have kept up contact ever since.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">I read his poetry, got some of his back story, and gratefully learned that he is still writing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">He is currently working on a memoir of his time in Cuba which is as daring and provocative </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">as one would expect from a human being so committed to freedom and joy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">I gained a friend and made contact with a truly unique and gifted human being.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">A wise, talented, supportive person who has so far been disgracefully ignored and consciously</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">hindered by an industry that cannot face itself or its ongoing legacy of failure to be fit for purpose.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">We have fallen into a vacuum of conceit where technique </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">is somehow more valued than talent,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">luck plays more importance than ever and </span><span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">the 'Market' has forgotten its basis for existence.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; line-height: 1.38;">The invisible hand swats rather than helps.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">Guillermo must be read to keep us all sane.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">So this blog is about his writing and my thoughts on it as well as the words of other</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">Joyce enthusiasts on the subject.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.66px; vertical-align: baseline;">Please feel free to contribute or write to William himself at </span><span style="line-height: 1.38;">guillermojoyce</span><span style="line-height: 1.38;">@gmail</span><span style="line-height: 1.38;">.com</span><br />
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