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A Man of Genius Makes No Mistakes

I took three essay-based exams today, in a row. While waiting for the final one to begin, I sat through a number of English Majors discussing in detail the, sigh, “physics and metaphysics” of a certain TV show's series finale. I was wincing the entire time, mainly because I'm entirely sure I sounded exactly as they did the few days after the Sopranos came to its own inglorious end. To celebrate both the completion of my exams, here is something related both in content and pretentiousness:

For those interested, here's a collection of Joyce's love letters to Nora Barnacle. They read like a cross between glossolalia and a cybersex transcript. So, y'know, nothing new.


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