Calling Dedalus

Eva, the self-described psychic whom Tiggy introduced to me this past summer -- the one who has a deceased nun whisper in her ear whenever she needs advice -- had something to tell me. Tiggy had told her about my job search and Eva had been thinking about me and was ready to tell me what she felt.

Eva: Doll, when I first met you I saw someone who was so calm but was roiling inside with words, information, things that needed to get out.

Alice: No kidding?

Eva: Yes, I had a vision of you all tied up with duct tape.

Alice: Duct tape, eh? Umm. What part of me was taped?

Eva: ALL of you!

Alice: What the hell does that mean?

Eva: It means that you are not meant to get a job! You should write!

Alice: I am not to get a job? I am to write? You got all that because you saw me tied up? With duct tape? Is this a sick joke the nun has thought up to piss me off?

Obviously I have forgotten how to speak in declarative sentences.

Eva: Listen, Doll, don’t bother trying to get a job. Just sit down and write whatever comes into your head. Stream of consciousness. Don’t concentrate. Just write whatever. Get it all out of you and then things will happen.

Alice: Things? Will happen? What things? What will happen?

Hmm, still not getting the hang of saying sentences that end in periods.

Eva: You know, the things that are meant to happen will happen once you sit down and…write. But I don’t want you to concentrate.

Alice: Let me understand here. I am not to get a job, never mind the fact that I NEED to earn money ah, yesterday; I am to sit and spill my guts on paper, and in a disorganized, non-concentrated way I might add, and then…things will happen. Sure, things will happen. BAD THINGS.

Eva: Pah! You want to be free of the duct tape, don’t you?

So here I am. Streaming. Consciousnessly. Let’s see. Duct Tape. Taboo. Evening. Nuns. Anarchy. James Joyce. What the hell am I doing just sprouting words and why did I ever meet… Wait! No! Must not concentrate!