First things first: the date's been set for my essay in the Globe and Mail. On February 20th I have to buy my own copy. That's right. It's completely pro-bono. Not even a free issue. I don't know why they call it "Facts & Arguments," anyway. None of the featured essays I've read argue anything other than the worth of reading a few linked anecdotes. No, I'm not bitter. I'm over-joyed.
I'm currently in the middle of writing a paper on the relationship between Satanic pride and the surveillance in Milton's Paradise Lost. Shame and paranoia overtake the happy couple after their notorious ingestion, which at first ignites their eyes and loins. Visual stimulation alone is out of step with the Garden of Eden's utility and perverts the pro-creative impulse that ties each object to the image of its Maker. The flipside of pornography, it turns out, is the feared surveillence of God, whose previously celebrated omniscience is reduced to a pair of eyes that gaze like Satan: the post-lapsarian God, for Adam and Eve, is detached from the world (how else can he maintain perfection) and ego-centric (no wonder no one likes him).
Writing a review of Animal Collective's latest is my reward for getting the paper finished and sliding it under the door of my prof. I've totally cut myself off from Merriweather Post-Pavillion until then. It's far too infectious. "My Girls" keeps pummeling you and my attention span is fragile enough already. Until then, here's a nice piece by Simon Reynolds (over at blissblog) on the recently inhabited space of mid-mainstream popularity that AC have achieved with MPP. Deserved accolation, I'd say.
And now, back to work.
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