Deterritory verlainelefou wrote:
As once upon a time Franny was writing about the roundabout Milton as
when a reader
would see threads glaring off the deep anchor of a piece and ....
so/one writes words. they make things happen in/out. i write in a nonconforming way U disagree that's yer business... Now Milton on-the one hand, is interesting as a prose writer as poet shaking between left hand
right hand making the switches.... 'so bucksome blithe and debonair' Other thoughts about the grave Grave as the metaphor of the critical drivel that has accumulated around his work since his death. At first it was good, then it became manure shite repetition, what was curiosity becomes the reflexive self preservation of a class prejudice. In a Deleuze like pose one ca ask who does Milton take behind. MIlton the Latin Secretary of Cromwell, Milton the mysogyne. Latin the blind man on the run Milton is the class poet of his age: what a bore, as one drills through the last bks
. Always so derivative everywhere of Shakespeare, this religious maniac, a man who neglects the Irish and exalts the Bible one strange cockatoo of British nonsense One can go on and on....
Tracking this and tracing this... yet the grave becomes the visible site and is indeed the visible locale of violation.
THe poets remains were stolen,removed, desecrated, put back; Milton's dead body is the dead subject of his reified name. His fit fame for few is a curse. He remains, like TS Eliot, the most cursed of the British poet.s
THe more one reads Paradise Lost the less there is. One realises in fact that the Waste Land began with this lengthy burial of Christianity, its last aborted effort at justifying of course a god that cannot be justified. __________ Make your own bloody body without organs. We are difference engineers, ok?