Kris has been kindly nudging me to contribute to 12 Apostrophes for quite some time and I have held out till now. I thought why not give recognition where recognition is due and post something about the man who gave this webpage its name, one James Joyce. And what better day then Bloomsday, June 16th (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bloomsday) to celebrate the work of the man and give a shout out to one of my favorite authors.
Now, I could be mistaken and Kris and Donnie please correct me if I am, the name for the webpage/literary movement came from a random flip and point through Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake and chance, fate, the hand of God drew your hands to this quote:
“The echo is where in the back of the wodes; callhim forth!
(Shaun Mac Irewick, briefdragger, for the concern of Messrs
Jhon Jhamieson and Song, rated one hundrick and thin per
storehundred on this nightly quisquiquock of the twelve apos-
trophes, set by Jockit Mic Ereweak. He misunderstruck and aim
for am ollo of number three of them and left his free natural ri-
postes to four of them in their own fine artful disorder.)”
An apt quote in my opinion since there is nothing quite like “fine artful disorder” to make a creative venture work.
So, here is a first entry of sorts. Drink some Guinness and celebrate Joyce and his work.
7 Responses to on this nightly quisquiquock of the twelve apostrophes
I did have a Guinness tonight, before I read this, a Guinness for the first time maybe in years. I didn’t even know why I was drinking Guinness–I thought it was because I’m getting a cold and I figured Guinness was hearty and bitter enough to help set me straight, but now I know. Bloomsday!
Aakaash and Krystal, I think, may have come up with the name 12apostrophes, but I approved immediately. And it was from *Finnegan’s Wake*, most definitely, but they’ll have to confirm whether it was random or no.
Either way, Seryi makes for 8 apostrophes total, and now, yes, I can (and did) proudly put Finland among the globe-trotting locales in which our contributors reside. All right!
“Pull out his eyes, Apologise.”
Aakaash and Krystal, my bad on the mistake. I knew it came down from the H’burg, my presumption was K and D instead of K and A but hopefully you can forgive the oversight. Much consumption of “fouties,” vodka and Roxanne blur much of my H’burg experience to this day.
Kris, Good to hear some Guinness was consumed.
Alas, there is no Guiness to be found here. I will llive vicariously; what else can I do? I remember Krystal reading from Finnegan’s Wake (we were in 107 Heritage and under various influences – the only things I can be sure about) and “12 Apostrophes” being born. Feels like yesterday…
Come to think of it, whatever happened to the previous iterations of “12 Apostrophes”? The ones with all the poems and plays? I hope that they are all saved/cached somewhere for the ten-year anniversary and such occasions.
And Welcome Finland! Hope to see more of Seryi on these pages from now.
Sorry – the birth of the name actually took place in 208 Heritage. For students of Hattiesburg history (and who isn’t?), that was Matt and Kyle and Eric’s old place, not to be confused with 207 Heritage (which was Matt and my place) or 105 Heritage (better known as 105 Smirnoff) which housed (among many others) Kris, Pulao and myself.
Ah, Heritage Apartments, a city within a town…
I wondered where the hell 107 Heritage was . . . could that have been Reena’s old place? Or the drug dealers with the kid who we traded PlayStation games with, maybe?
Or maybe that guy . . . you know, the former Texas prison guard? Who lived across the pool, blasted “Dream Theater” from his boombox, and liked to speak “in the language of his brothers”? Which was, we finally discovered, broken Spanish from the mouth of a 97% gringo former prison guard form Texas?
(By the way, I’m not making any of that up.)
And now, if ever we did have a reader of this blog who wasn’t a close relative, close friend, or friendly relative, that imaginary reader has now abandoned us, as we talk of the personal and obscure geographies of college.
Even a majority of the authors of this blog don’t know what the fuck we’re talking about, although Aakaash was nice enough to give a little history (thanks, Aakaash!).
And by the way, the poems and plays do still exist, and are stashed away, and I swear it–ten years from now, if this blog still exists (on the holographic interWebs that will, by then, be beamed directly into our minds), we will publish them all over again.
Related reminiscence: That kid of the drug dealer’s took off with our Army Men and all we had in return was that weird luge/skateboarding/rollerblading game. It was not a fair trade, but it did stop Kris from destroying me in the Toybox every time we played.
Which is Joycean in some way, I suppose…
In the language of my brothers, “Wark!”… Wack.