The beast and the lovesong

So I'm currently writing an essay on Henry James' The Beast in the Jungle and comparing it with Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock on some relatively loose existential bend... this idea of the unconscious betrayal of self; this idea of the the law that rules us; this idea of being marked without precise measurement, or of with precise measurement (with spoons) ; this idea of life as divided into such small quantities that it may be too difficult to compile them all if that is what one wanted to do, considering one would not have recorded the tiny tiny fluctuations of non-choice; this idea of waiting for something that happens right in front of you. And not seeing it. At all.

Working title: the strangeness in the strangeness: the preoccupation of unconscious law

So many notes to work in yet... so little time.