ジョシュ・ブローリンのインスタグラム(joshbrolin) - 2月3日 00時25分

Happy Birthday James Joyce. You carried me through the dregs of Dublin on thick black coffeesyrup and to my danggly legs off the Cliffs of Moher as a young wantemmore. You put the tweed coat on my secondhandedly born shoulders and the soft souled shoes that must have cost less to make than to wear. You put me in that room above the breakfast tables where scared I stayed and thought up plays about a boy who scared-stays in a room for so long he creates a society of people paintdrawn on his walls and slowly hears their voices, their individualities, their eventual fading aways. And it was you that carried me through that Portrait description of Hell for 22 pages sand grain by grain of sand while I scaredsinking in my broken twinnie rented bed remembered those letters you wrote to Nora and I blushed for you because Hell was your now home I was sure of it while you I’m sure if it again made hellhome yours with magma words strewn in all directions cause when you can write, pal, burn the books or not, they always find their way back on crutches or birds. They always find their way. So no matter that I slept in the field or talked to the priest my dear it was you who brought me there on an adolescent platter always whispering to go on, always egging me on to push further. What a father to have in you as you dieborn me day in and out night each then complete and always with an itchy pen.

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