On the train this morning I read old New Yorkers. 5 October 2015 contains an article about an American poet people could describe as a know-all. He’s a self-styled avant-gardist, which means his purpose is to shock and offend people. This is a fairly easy method of art: inspiring people takes more talent and time. Between Dennis and Westgarth Stations I read that he wrote ‘Fidget’, “an account of practically every movement he made on Bloomsday – June 16th – in 1997.” Waking up, swallowing, walking, and obviously fidgeting were all described into a tape recorder, then transcribed. Joyce used his imagination.