and in the past i myself, the author of the above lengthy and unwieldy objection steeped in irony, which itself can be argued, and convincingly, to be a demonstration of my own cleverness more than any kind of actual criticality, may indeed, depending on circumstance, context, and the specific mood which finds me at the time of committing words to paper or screen, have been guilty of this.
but in my defense, this exercise in self referentiality and the circular logic of which it makes ample use, however solipsistic and pointless, actually takes the form of that which it, at least purportedly, concerns, and thus afforded a kind of, if i may be so bold, elegance in execution if not motive or aim, in the tradition of "form follows function" classic modernism.
And further, this literary frivolity is, i believe, ultimately in the service of, more than anything else, besides satisfaction of the afore-mentioned childish impulses, pure and simple amusement, and thus largely harmless (besides robbing a few idle individuals on the internet of the few minutes which it took them to read it).
I miss David Foster Wallace
