These horrors were really nonexistent. A man of the Middle Ages would detest the whole mode of our present-day life as something far more than horrible, fare more than barbarous. Every age, every culture, every custom and tradition has its own character, its own weakness and its own strength, its beauties, and ugliness; accepts certain sufferings as matters of course, puts up patiently with certain evils. Human life is reduced to real suffering, to hell, only when two ages, two cultures, and religions overlap. A man of the Classical age who had to live in medieval times would suffocate miserably just as a savage does in the midst of our civilization.
How absurd those words are, such as beast, and beast of prey. One should not speak of animals in that way. They may be terrible sometimes, but they're much more right than men.
Well look at an animal, a cat, a dog, or a bird, or one of those beautiful great beasts in the zoo, a puma, or a giraffe. You can't help seeing all of them are right. They're never in any embarrassment. They always know what to do and how to behave themselves. They don't flatter and they don't intrude. They don't pretend. They are as they are, like stones or flowers or stars in the sky.
As I have mentioned here before a couple of times I LOVE the show Lost and I am totally hyped about the final season for I cannot wait to see just where they will take this wild ride which they have lead the viewers on.
Well for the final season Lost is hosting a promo contest in which viewers can make their own 30 second proms for the Final Season and the winner will have theirs aired on TV during Lost.
I have found myself thrown into one of my obsessions again. Those that are such rare delights to be savored and burst within my soul, speaking to me upon such deep depths in which I feel a connection spark, and an understanding born within me. I am speaking of course of another one of my literary obsessions in which a book so suddenly, unexpectedly reaches out and grabs me by the throat and refuses to let me go. Which I consume with greedy hunger and yet never want it to end. Where I see a flicker of myself reflected back at me within the written words of the author.
I have recently started reading Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse, who I think is a fabulous author, I remember how deeply he spoke to me and touched me with Siddhartha, which for me was a highly influential and inspirational book and I think also a book I read just at the right moment in my life. Now he has done it again with Steppenwolf. I was transfixed by the very first sentence and drawn into this marvelously irresistible story. A book that every time I pick it up I feel I have come away with another burst of enlightenment. It looks within and speaks directly to me.
The very premises of the book is a concept of which I cannot help but to find irresistible and fascinating, for it portrays almost a sort of psychological Lycanthropy. It is a philosophical and psychological way of examining that aspect within us where we are torn between our rational mind and the baser natural instincts, which werewolf lore stems from. The difference between the "beast" and the "man." In which the narrator of the story is the Steppenwolf, which means "Wolf of the steppes" which is a lone wolf character who is isolated from the rest of society because of his awareness of the fact that he is different, that he is divided into these two selves, the man and the wolf, and yet he cannot find harmony between these selves which torments him and leaves him completely alone feeling like he does not belong, where there is no place for him.
But beyond that, the truth is even deeper. Hesse spent a great deal of time studying the Eastern Philosophies and religions, and so this concept of the Steppenwolf is only a fraction of the truth, only a sliver of seeing through the illusion the fact we are in fact made up of many several "selves" that we consist of countless different identities, though most of us can only see in the singular, while the Steppenwolf is aware that there is more than one self within him, he is unable to embrace the enormity of the truth and so he sees himself as being divided only between two different halves.
had to renovate my reading list, becasue my reading habits had become more chaotic and harder to keep track of under the old system I used. I have now broken my reading down into catagogries.
Genereal Reading: the books within my normal reading cycle, and that I am reading purely for personal pleasure.
Monthly Reading: Book I am reading for online reading groups I belong to.
Non-Fiction: Self-explanatory, basically any non-fiction book I happen to be reading in addition to my other readings.
Reading on the Side: Any extra, miscellaneous books I happen to be reading in addition to my other reading.
In honor of the death of the great J.D. Salinger I have been re-reading The Catcher in the Rye, and within the book Holden refers to a song with the lyric "if a body catch a body coming thru the rye" so I was compelled to look it up and discovered it came from a Robert Burns poem/song called Comin Thro' the Rye (no doubt the books namesake) and though perhaps I am just biased because of my great love of "The Catcher in the Rye" but upon reading the poem, I find it irresistably appealing.
O, Jenny's a' weet, poor body, Jenny's seldom dry: She draigl't a' her petticoatie, Comin thro' the rye!
Comin thro' the rye, poor body, Comin thro' the rye, She draigl't a' her petticoatie, Comin thro' the rye!
Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry?
Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the glen, Gin a body kiss a body, Need the warl' ken?
Gin a body meet a body Comin thro' the grain; Gin a body kiss a body, The thing's a body's ain.
People rarely fail to amaze me, but often in less than flattering ways. I have alluded to on this forum a couple different times, one of my other blogs in which I write about topics relating to vampires, mythology, things of lore and of gothic nature and so forth, so I had an essay I wrote on my blog in which I give my own personal interpretation of the Medusa myth, and I state that it is My Personal interpretation. I was not trying to rewrite history, nor was I claiming my views were one in the same with the historical intent, it was pure and simple what I read into the myth.
I get this comment from some guy who actually tells me that my personal interpretation of a work of mythology is incorrect.
Now first of all that statement to me is ludicrous on so many different levels.
First of all who determines that there is only one finite absolute correct way to interpret a work of mythology?
By what authority is he the one to thus determine that the one and only possibility interpretation of a myth is?
And how exactly can ones perception of something that is subjective, filled with symbolism and metaphor, and of a physiological and spiritual nature, and filled with subconscious suggestion be right or wrong?
Even with so called historical "facts" where there is psychical, tangible evidence there are different interpretations of what it all means. All history is, is someone else's version of what they perceive happened, though they have good reason for building those arguments. If you gathered 5 scholars together who all studied the exact same thing, odds are you will end up with 5 different theories.
And has he not heard of this little thing called the Bible in which wars have been started over arguing over varying different interpretations of the work, but than maybe he could everyone a big favor by stepping in and explaining to everyone what the one, absolute correct interpretation really is.
So anyway that is more or less how I basically responded to his comments and he countered with arguments basically about why apparently I don't have the right to have my own personal interpretations of works of mythology.
Well while I was still in the process of contemplating just how I was going to respond to his arguments (and to this point while there may have been some sarcasm on both sides, it had still progressed in a rather intelligent way) but before I even have the chance to respond to his latest arguments, I get another comment from him, that was just a completely immature, unprovoked personal attack against me.
In which he states that I have crackpot interests and pass times (which granted may be true) and that the ability and skill to set up a web site is no indicator of intelligence.
To say the least after that I had no intention of further attempting to have an intelligent conversation with him, and giving a dignified response to his arguments, for as far I was concerned he had just disproved his own intelligence to me.
So instead this is what I said in response:
Hmm that is like the pot calling the kettle black. Though I disagreed with you I still formerly thought you displayed some intelligence in your arguments but your sudden need to make immature personal remarks completely unprovoked does go a long way to discredit what you have previously said.
You could have made your point a lot better without lowering yourself to remarks worthy of the schoolyard.
you know how it feels when you treat someone as your good friend then they treat you back like shit? you know how it feels when you take pains to ask someone out nicely and all they do is kaopeh? and to take the biscuit, your obvious display of annoyance and displeasure is branded as childish? what was a merry, relaxing and happy setting just minutes ago is now replaced with cold white anger. is it worth it?
2/16/2010 - The Popularity Contest of the Olympics
Posted by Silver Wind
I never much cared for figure skating, that is as an Olympic event to watch, especially not the paired skating. For one thing because I find it quite boring to watch and for two because well it is quite pointless, I don't even know why they bother having rules, the judges or just going to give points to whoever they personally like at the time.
Even though ice skaters are all a bunch of prima donnas, when you are in the Olympics, you are suppose to be the best there is what you do, the most skilled and talented, and the purpose of the Olympics is to award the top athletes, the best of the best, the ones who display above all others the most skilled technique and have the most perfect performances and prove superior to their competitors.
So as far as I am concerned in ice skating if you eat the ice, clean it up with your rear, fall flat out on your face, than that is it, you don't get a score, end of the story, it sucks to be you but you are done.
But I think I figured out the unspoken truth, figure skating is the "feel good" sport, in which if you fall you actually get more points because the judges don't want you to feel bad about it.
There was this couple and in their first routine, they skated a flawless routine, no mistakes, they hit all the marks perfectly, and they ended up being criticized for not showing enough "passion" in their routine, and not being committed enough to their choreography. And ended up in 6th place for it.
Well in their second routine on one of their jumps the guy completely ate the ice, fell flat out on his face, was down completely on the ice and for that they ended up in 1st place.
No wonder skaters keep falling all over the place, because they know it really doesn't matter in fact, you have more of a chance of winning if you fall compared to someone who doesn't fall, especially if the couple who actually skates well are not ice divas who have well known faces and names, and long tragic life stories.
I first started reading Mario Puzo when I was in high school and became a fast fan of his work. Part of it was driven by my interest within the Mafia which developed during high school after my discovery that the Mafia is part of my own family history, but beyond that I became captivated by his writing.
I find Puzo to be an engaging and talented writer. Fools Die was a marvelous book, one of my all time favorites of Puzo's. A captivating reed and extremely well executed that had me hooked from start to finish.
The Last Don was also quite a brilliant work and comes in closely behind Fools Die. Another work of great skill and depth.
One of the things which does provide through Puzo's work is the complexity and depth of his characters, the interesting and intricate plots, as well as his skillful prose work which grabs the reader by the throat and doesn't let go.
Well I recently started reading Omerta, which was published the year after Puzo died, and I instantly could tell something was drastically wrong.
At first I was conflicted with myself, as it had been a long time since the I have read Puzo, could my memory have failed me? Or could my future reading ventures have changed my perception of good writing?
I could not convince myself that my memory and my taste could have been so drastically deluded and wrong.
But Omerta was nothing like what I remember from Puzo's past works. Omerta comes off as shallow, the characters are not as well carved out and brought into full flesh and blood. The plot it fairly simplistic and lacks a certain believability. It just was not flushed out with the usual skill, talent, depth, expected. It reads like a cheap thriller.
I had began to have growing suspicions that Puzo never actually completely the manuscript and in fact it was completely be someone else after his death. I researched his subject but could not find much information to support the idea. I only found one review written by someone who seemed to hold the same opinion as I did.
I am left quite disappointed and baffled by the unfortunate result of this last book by Puzo.
A world once held inside, cradled through the avenues of the mind, breathing through memories, racing across the body's planes.
So fragile an existence for a nation contained within this solitary vessel, all their knowledge, joy, and sorrows, the many faces now dead live solely through a lone survivor.
Vanishing as soon as the last light darkened behind the eyes, with no children to carry the spark beyond she became grandmother of a tribe, keeper of traditions which stretch back through time.
The world could shudder and cry at the loss, a civilization left now only scattered bones, gone forever a language which will have no voice to carry its melodies.
How many stories now will be left to fall away into the dust, how soon will it be forgotten, along the paths they once walked, just as their footprints have been swept away, so too will the traces of their long yet brief existences on this earth disappear.
I came acros this list of what are considered to be the 100 greatest books of the 20th century, I decided that I would reach each of these books, here is the list of books I have read. The numbders in front of the title is the order they appear on the list. The * are a sort of 5 star rating system for how well I liked the book. I will also list if any the books I am in the progress of reading.
I have just discovered that one of my literary icons has died today. As many of you may know from some of my past writings, J.D. Salinger ranked among my favorite authors and always held a very special place within my thoughts and literary pursuits. Like many of you I first read "Catcher in the Rye" in high school, and I was gripped instantly by the story. I fell in love with Holden as he pulled me long through the trails and experiences of his life. I felt a personal kinship with him, I could relate and identify with him and ever since that has remained one of the most memorable as well as influential books I have read, that has not in all this time since been shaken from its place in the high rankings of my favorites.
And after that I devoured everything by Salinger that I could get my hands on, and was never once disappointed by the experience. There are many who criticize Salinger's writing, particularly for the reoccurring angst which provides though many of his characters and stories, some find it too simplistic, or immature, shallow and lacking in depth, but it was of course that cold biting cynicism which warmed its way into my soul and touched me at the very core speaking to me on very personal levels. I was enchanted by his characters, and I hungered for more of them. They spoke to me directly, touched some imperative cord within my soul. Within the capacity of the author-reader relationship I always felt we had a connection, and understand with each other. In fact many of my own poetic femme fatales were inspired by the works of J.D. Salinger.
At times I would tell my friends that I sometimes felt as if I was one of J.D Salinger's characters come to life. There were moments when I felt like a creation of his. Perhaps he was not the most brilliant write ever, and perhaps his works were not pursue great, philosophical, complicated depths and maybe they are not relatable to everyone, but all the same he was a light which illuminated within the dark reaches of this cold heart, and for that he will always be a treasure I cherish.
Everywhere I go I notice things that need to be changed. Helping others to clean their lives, I clean mine. Life sometimes gets messy - I am in the cleaning business for life. I can't help it! Have something to clean?
