Good morning Every-One.
It's "good" because we all awoke above ground and (hopefully) no one is shooting at us, nor is there a U.S. Kill Drone hovering nearby with our position "Locked On".
Today is suppose to "be about" a passage in D.H. Lawrence's Lady Chatterley's Lover, a Novel that was required for Dr. Moynihan's "Modern Novel Class" my Senior Year.
D.H. Lawrence is just one of the Reason I DON'T consider myself a Writer, Riter suits me just fine, Blogger is even better.
I MUST transcribe two paragraphs, (one is lengthy) in order to express an Elitist Perspective gone the way of sophisticated "authorial intrusion". DH puts HIS mind into the character "Connie" and THAT is what I wish I could do. I can't. Still, I have access to DH's Introspection and it is IMPERATIVE for me to provide You Kidz with this sort of literary Politics, even IF it is Psychological in form and structure.
I'm no fan of Fiction, but here, in The Realm of Writing-as-ART I abide in sleepless terror . Objectification of Truth-as-Fact breeds a dry-boned powder that chokes the nostrils and blurs one's vision. I mean, NOT for me, I LOVED Origin of Species, it was a delightful trog through a fucking DESERT of Evolutionary Biology save for ONE oasis, the oasis where Darwin describes the Evolution of the Human Eye in almost mystical terms. I LIVE for passages such as these...I find them breathtaking and Life-giving.
So it is with the passage that follows.
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