There are so many reasons why I hate analysis. I want to make a subdivision of literary criticism called "comic book logic", where critics employ tropes like the half-naked heroine, who doesn't wear a bra, yet has perfectly buoyant tits, always in some half-assed disaster set piece that requires wits rather than using her superpowers. Just goes to show that yes Virginia, superheroes can be completely dumb as fuck.
Ohhhh I hate analysis. The formality makes me want to kill the implied reader and skewer the nuts of the editor, regardless of its gender. Formulaic to the Core. My tasks are as follows: Analyse Baudelaire through Poe's short story, "the man of the crowd", which I like alot, because these are practical theories, I can employ Baudelaire's logic of thought as I walk down the street. It's exhaustive to be someone else though, especially when you don't know who yourself is. I have a theory before I proceed with this rant, from 5 years old we only one profession we are destined to grow up to be: A clown. Everyone loves taking the piss, getting the attention, loving the adulation of classmates, and the classmates love to give it. clowns, all of us.
I'm not going to be able to finish this rant, so consider it shelved until I either calm down (stoned) or become enraged some more (realised I haven't had sex for 20 years again).