The little that is left, of our culture, cannot be found in the book mentioned in Parker's "Bad Romance". [in the Atlantic Monthly for October, 2012] Now, of course, all romance is bad unless saved by S and M. So it would seem, since boredom is our plight.
He states, if you have genitals, you must have an opinion about the book. You are driven by the "culturally compulsory" to take up a position. A few of us become like soldiers hopelessly defending a private redoubt.
I thank Parker for telling me enough about the book so that I do not care to read it. Rather, I could not read it - trash, he calls it. It is hopeless, at this late date, to ward off the trash lobbed at the redoubt.
They and it cannot get in the redoubt - never will they and it do so. They and it can overrun the position. Take it, you lost souls and pieces-of-crapola. We aren't defending modernity, not what Lawrence's 1928 lament wanted abolished, but since after 1928, modernity did suffer a repulse; we now contrary-wise assert no victory over trash triumphant.
Elsewhere, the numbness of modernity vibrates so loudly that fractures put fragments in play. Those fragments that Parker quotes are sharply enough felt by him to put his observations in a register higher than the quotes he makes. The numbness that hums, drones, into his bones is too loud to be countered by any vibrancy.
The constant hum of our "culture" prevents us from hearing a small and quiet voice. In other words, morality is no longer heard here.
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