Literary Criticism.

As a student of literature, I often find myself reading, and re-reading, dare I add, secondary criticism, that is, contextual and literary critiquing of the novel in question. For my Gothic unit this too frequently revolves around psychoanalytic variations, dream-interpretations, prognostications; half-baked attempts to decline that which we read. Now, I lap these up with a wilfulness dappled only by my own self-consciousness and failings; I bask in the glow of elucidation that these gems have to offer for my own interpretations. In past lives I'd have willingly become an amanuensis for Freud - had I but the castrated vagina - infra dig could have sucked me; well, not, because I'd have a hole instead of a pokey-doodle, but you see where I'm going with this. And the main reason that sentence is written down is so I can use amanuensis; as Angela Carter does to death in Nights At The Circus -- a book with a title so irritatingly similar to Rushdie's Midnight's Children that it has taken me eleven weeks to distinguish them successfully, even though I've only just finished the former, and not read the latter.

Anyway, as is my custom, I have wandered aimlessly away from my main point - which I suppose, in and of itself, is my main point - and now I find myself trying to desperately scrabble back to linearity with my, all too oft'used, self-deprecating acknowledgement of failure. Please place your distorted-reality specs on... Done? Good. As you can see, if you ignore the sentence before last, the point I was making all along is that I don't think I have the brain or literary criticism. I get sidetracked like a deer walking through a meat shop; I also have almost no faculty for metaphor or simile. It is but one of my short-comings: like the child desperately jumping to fetch the balloon down from the ceiling, my metaphors are hilariously fruitless, never amounting to anything but a sense of frustration and -- oh for fuck's sake I have gone away from the point explaining why I was going away from the point! Damn this. Prepare yourself for a humongous effort on my part; I am going to expound in a linear fashion, and produce a cogent analysis of my critical failings.

I'm not really, because I'm too tired, I'm just going to say that it sucks I will never be able to write any decent criticism of stuff. I like to criticise negatively ;D!

Pfft. Bodes well for the dissertation. Which I just spelt wrong three times.

Pfft.