J R (American Literature)

by William Gaddis

The gum wad bounded off the sill, rose, dropped again. He tipped the bottle over the empty cup—all I need right now little encouragement from Marian . . . he came down on H-O with the blue folder, set the cup aside emptied again—just need to loosen up a little, run through the rest of this before I type it where the, one eyed, good eye yes the good eye could now peer into Aris tripods here, tripods of Hephaestus which, says the poet, of their own accord entered the assembly of the gods, if, in like manner, the shuttle would weave and the plectrum touch the lyre without a hand to guide them, chief workmen would not want servants, nor masters slaves. For though the tale how for art’s sake Wilde had faced Leadville’s bullies to a standoff continued to amuse long after he’d withdrawn to join the compost smoldering in Europe with Pater’s recipe for, fueled by Pater’s no. The tale no. For though, and though the, for now the tale . . .

exp. of writing, allusions