I think I find this very disturbing. I don’t particular enjoy James Joyce, except for Dubliners, but C. stumbled upon The Erotic Letters of James Joyce yesterday and mentioned his fart-huffing fetish at breakfast this morning. I didn’t believe her at first, but sure enough, there in his letters to his wife, we find

You had an arse full of farts that night, darling, and I fucked them out of you, big fat fellows, long windy ones, quick little merry cracks and a lot of tiny little naughty farties ending in a long gush from your hole. It is wonderful to fuck a farting woman when every fuck drives one out of her. I think I would know Nora's fart anywhere. I think I could pick hers out in a roomful of farting women. It is a rather girlish noise not like the wet windy fart which I imagine fat wives have. It is sudden and dry and dirty like what a bold girl would let off in fun in a school dormitory at night. I hope Nora will let off no end of her farts in my face so that I may know their smell also.

Thank God for the internet, that’s for sure.

Well, I shelled out for a MIDI keyboard at CompUSA a couple of days ago, because it seemed like it would be a good idea. It also seemed like a good idea to sit down this morning and tinker around making some music. It may not, however, have been a good idea to spend 12 hours straight (no meals, no peeing, no blinking) on whatever the hell this thing is. I call it Bohemian Rodeo.