On James Joyce and leaping tall buildings

Before my accident, I tried to read Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, with bad results. I could not follow the language. I shelved it, to be taken up at another time.

This passage, for instance, made no sense to me (or rather, I had a very hard time understanding it):
 "Then all his eagerness passed away and he felt his face quite cool. He thought his face must be white because it felt so cool. He could not get out the answer for the sum but it did not matter. White roses and red roses those were beautiful colours to think of .And the cards for first place and third place were beautiful colours too pink and cream and lavender .Lavender and cream and pink roses were beautiful to think of .Perhaps a wild rose might be like those colours and he remembered the song about the wild rose blossoms on the little green place .But you could not have a green rose .But perhaps somewhere in the world you could."

 It is written without the full constraints and rules of the english language. It is written in a train of thought manner.

This is how I presently think and speak. I don't know what to edit out, what has more importance over what, and am always riding the current that is my train of thought.  When I started to re-read this book, it made total sense to me.   

I can't read it for long, mind you, because my brain peters out on me. So, even though it is slow going, I think I have discovered a new skill/ super power/ ability. I can't stop speeding bullets or leap tall buildings in a single bound, but I can paint big flowers and understand some of James Joyce's writing. I don't think I'll be saving Metropolis anytime soon, but I might be invited to a cultural event.