i once owned a copy of proust's titan:
à la recherche du temps perdu -
that one book that people
make bookclubs out of...
i came from a different literary
family, invoked by ezra
pound, and culminating
in james joyce's twin titans
ulysses & finnegans wake...
this family was numerous
thought, resulting a sort of school
of thought, a scholasticism...
the other option?
  proust!
i did own a cheap 2 vol edition
of this behemoth...
i gave it away to a charity shop,
the mere weight of a 2 vol.
edition put me off...
but?
   my mother was given a 3 vol.
edition by her admirer, she never read it,
the books are small,
compact, and written in my native
language...
      **** it...
   reading heidegger's "aphorism" for
almost a year is one thing,
but attempting proust?
  i'll die a happy man,
not minding the americana of moby ****...
but at least i'll have merged the two
origins together...
  some people go for james joyce,
others the homosexual
cul de sac of proust:
   i'll be attempting for...
kinda like running 50 marathons
in 50 days...
  or swimming across the english channel,
like that mad australian woman
who wants to do it: 3, ******* times,
in an uninterrupted continuum...
but evidently i first have to finish
heidegger's book...
  then there's the comparison of tedium,
apparently reading proust isn't
adventurous, so i gather...
       i'll have to cut back on the drinking
(i guess) -
        and then change my psyche to
read in heimatspreschen...
   next to this edition of proust rests
a near complete body of work of charles dickens...
and i'm thinking:
     which is more prolific?
i can't decide...
    but i'm a dogmatic break-away from
what i stated once: joyce is the limit,
i will never, ever, touch proust.
   then again, nearing finishing ponderings
ii - vi... it was going to be a natural
progression... pick & mix...
   i wasn't exactly willing to continue
down the same genre...
       even though i could have
ventured down the path of
hegel's phenomenology of spirit...
and why did i wake up at 5 am this morning
having gone to bed at nearing 1 am?
just to think this up?
    no... just marinated some chicken
for tomorrow,
   in tamarind and rice vinegar and sesame
oil and white wine vinegar and soy sauce
ready for tomorrow to be triply
   deep-fried served with rice and some
sort of chinese salad...
  raw tamarind? don't try it...
   oh yeah... and the house chores down:
i'm waiting for the house-husband hole...
but, evidently the teachings of feminism
is giving me the *******...
  no house-husbands allowed...
       so i can cook decent food,
do all the house chores (vacuum,
steam the wooden floors), and read
a philosophy book, while prepping
myself toward the near suicidal ambition
of reading proust in the very near future?
****...
     em... can you tell the chinese to give
some of the manual labour back?