Let 1,000 Journals Bloom

As I have already told my dear friend Fang, I am now somewhere between the fourth and fifth circles of Hell, or at least between whichever circles don't contain the sodomites. (Apologies for not remembering my Dante in more detail.) It seems that I awoke one morning this week to find that I am back, once again, working for The Man. I'm still not entirely sure how it happened, but I don't think it was by design. In any case, I had forgotten what it was like to be awake at 6:30 a.m. (Well, that's not entirely true—I was often awake at that hour, but rarely awakening at that hour.) And clothing is certainly more constricting than I remember. (I mean, I did wear clothing working at home, too, but rarely dress slacks and a 2-ply button-down long-sleeve pinpoint Oxford. It takes a toll on one after 9 hours or so.)

Enough ranting. Now, I know this isn't much of a blog post, but in honor of the 100th anniversary of Bloomsday, I offer this similarly peripatetic art project for your enjoyment. Take 1,000 writing journals, give them to various artists to decorate, and then spread them all across the world to random people. Tell them to write in them and pass them on to someone else, and track the whole thing on the Internet so you know where all the journals are (except for the lost ones). Take a look—it's pretty cool.

And by the way—if you have the option, try to avoid having a job. I don't recommend it. And I think Leopold Bloom would back me up on that.