Stayed up most of last night watching this new miniseries production of John Le Carre's The Night Manager, with Hugh Laurie and Tom Hiddleston. It's really good, highly recommended. Those with keen eyes, watching for the cameo by the author himself. ;-)
The Night ManagerHow to Be a Mother****ing Pimp by Dazzle Razzle...Anybody out there read this? I've come across this from a context of which I'd rather care not to admit, but it purports to Lacanian. There are definitely post-structuralist rubrics being exploited, but I haven't found any learned discussion on this book. Likely this is due to the off-putting title of the book book itself and a lot of the unsavoury subject matter.
A Philosophical Book on Pimping and BeyondThere's more right?
I'm applauding
Considering a standing ovation
There must be more
I've eaten all the malteasers
Only the unpopped popcorn left
I guess they didn't fancy it
No matter how hot it got
They were having none of it
But there is more right?
They should have popped
Or they would surely have missed out
What did they miss
Unpopped ?
I crush my can of Diet Pepsi
Because diet is right
Right?
Nobody wants you so much
They want more of you.
Not in wobbling layers of fat
But give me some more
More!
More!
More food sex drink
Countries!
More countries
That I can tick
More continents
Give me indigenous tribes
Wish you were here
Wish I was here.
There's more right ?
This ain't it
I'm clapping like a sea lion
Throw me fish.
Fingers.
THE LVG WAY
Your team should always have a plan “B”
In modern football you would have to say
Unfortunately for Manchester United though
Louis van Gaal doesn’t have a plan “A”
WHY DID THE DIVORCEE CROSS THE ROAD?
Why did the divorcee cross the road?
Well not just to get to the other side
The reason he wanted to cross over
Was so he could avoid another bride
WHEN I HAD MY VERY FIRST GARDEN
When I had my very first garden
It filled me with absolute terror
I didn’t have any experience
But I learnt by trowel and error
21st CENTURY NURSERY RHYMES # 368
Wee Willie Winkie runs through the town,
Upstairs and downstairs in his nightgown,
He goes to the doctor without hesitation
And four hours later has a penis extension
ARE YOU WEARING ODD SOCKS? # 3
Are you wearing odd socks?
Well it’s not quirky or hipster
And I don’t think it was your intent
I think you must have dementia
THE PLURAL OF FOOT
So if it is correct that
The plural of foot is feet
Then why is the plural of boot,
Boots and not beet
THE INVENTOR OF DENTAL FLOSS
The inventor of dental floss
Was honoured and hailed
When a piece of commemorative
Plaque was unveiled
IT IS A SAD FACT OF LIFE THAT IF # 2
It is a sad fact of life that if
There is a worse time, when
Something can go wrong
Of course it will happen then
IF CLERGYMEN CAN BE DEFROCKED # 2
If clergymen can be defrocked
Then can dry cleaners get de-pressed
Or must songwriters be de-composed
And hair stylists get dis-tressed?
WHEN THE PRINCESS FOUND THE FROG
When the princess found the frog
And the kiss was firmly planted
The prince turned out to be gay
And the Princess was disenchanted
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Hello to everyone!!Has anyone read her work?
I've read all three of her novels. Last read I read and wrote an essay about Purple Hibiscusand Americanah, and I am currently writing my Bachelor's thesis on Half of a Yellow Sun. I'm also considering reading The Thing Around Your Neck, her short story collection. I think Adichie writes really well, she's got a good grasp on the main themes in her novels.
Any experiences with her? Thoughts?
Chimamanda Ngozi AdichieSpent my life in Saltburn-by-the-Sea
, never felt like Sydney or Hawaii.
But the surfers came every weekend
– I’m told that some were very good
though it all looked the same to me.
The water can’t have been warm,
but at least the weather stayed nice
some of the time.
Do you believe that if the monster had a family that loved him and cared for him it would have prevented tragedy from occuring? Also, should Frankenstein have taken more responsibility for the monster since he is the creator?
Let me know your thoughts!
Frankenstein and FamilyI just finished a sports biography called Engage, which was about a rugby player who broke his neck. It was written by a sports writer called Paul Kimmage, who used to be a professional cyclist. I liked his book about his professional cycling days, but he has not written many books. In the epilogue he wrote:
In 1989, during a blizzard at the Tour of Italy, my hands were so cold one day that I urinated on them. In 1986, I watched the leader of the Tour de France ride by one day with diarrhoea pouring down his legs. But it didn't compare with the pain of writing: none of it hurt like writing a book, and I swore after my last that I would never suffer again.
I was a little surprised about that. I wouldn't have thought anything was as hard as being a professional cyclist. I wouldn't have thought writing was quite that hard.
How hard is writing a good book?I was reading Sandra Smith's translator's note to The Outsider by Albert Camus. She wrote:
"Readers may wonder why a new translation of The Outsider is necessary. Primarily, it is essential to create new versions of classic works in another language because language constantly evolves. The original text is immutable yet translations should be written in a style that is accessible to the modern reader while conveying the spirit of the modern text. Idiomatic speech in particular needs to be rendered in a way that feels true to the original without sounding dated."
What do you think about this? That must make reading something like a Shakespeare play in a foreign language, or something like The Devine Comedy in English a very different experience than for someone reading the work in their own language.I suppose it would be impossible to translate a Shakespeare play into a foreign language entirely accurately as the rhymes will be different and the iambic pentameter won't work. But even so, the language is arachaic and native speakers often struggle to follow it. Then some translations are great works of literature in their own right. The King James bible was a translation from Latin, or maybe it was translated directly from ancient Greek and Hebrew. More modern translations may be easier to understand, but lack its poetry. If you are reading a C19th book originally written in French, wouldn't it be better to read a C19th translation? You would get a better sense that the book was written in the C19th, and archaic terms would be translated into their contemporary equivalents. For example, an ostler was someone who looked after horses at an inn. I don't know what the C19th French term for an ostler was, but how would it be translated into English now, horse-tenderer, stableman?
New translations of foreign worksOn what seemed to be a regular dark crime ridden night in Gotham City, Catwoman sat perch high up on a building. She wasn't there just to take in the sight of the city though. No, there was only one sight she wanted to see. Across the way was a very high class apartment complex and at the very top floor was a diamond ring worth more then Selena weighed in gold. Catwoman, being the cat burglar she was, couldn't let such a priceless gem sit in some rich business woman's safe. Leaping from the roof, Catwoman began her grand heist.
Getting into the lavish apartment was easy and getting to the safe was even easier when there had been no security measures put in place to protect it at all. Selena put that down to the fact that no one was meant to know about the diamond being here but she thought living in a place like Gotham City would have taught them better. But then again, this Diana Prince, Selena was about to steal from, wasn't exactly from Gotham. What made her heist even more sweet was the fact this woman was only in town to meet with Bruce Wayne anyway. It seemed like the rich only went to see the rich.
"Batman can save your precious jewelry" She chuckled to herself as she began cracking the safes code "Bingo" she cried as heard the click of the safe
Pulling the thick metal door open, Selena's eyes sparkled as she gazed upon the diamond. It was both flawless and magnificent and it was easily one of the most beautiful sights Selena had ever laid eyes upon.
"Step away from my diamond" Selena heard a voice behind her command
Snatching the diamond, Selena spun around to face the owner of the voice
Catwoman had expected it to be the wealthy business woman from whom she was stealing from but instead was meet by a woman dressed in strange blue spandex outfit with golden gloves, boots and belt. She also had platinum blonde hair cascading down each side of her face but the most notable feature was her large round gut that protruded from her middle.
"Give me the diamond like a good kitty and i wont hurt you" The blue clan woman said before she raised an odd looking gun, pointing it in Selena's direction
"Huh, your diamond" Catwoman scoffed "Last i checked it was finders keepers" She hissed
"What a smug little Cat you are. So fierce all clad in that black leather" The woman said stepping closer
Selena watched as her bulbous middle bounced with her stepped and Selena started to wonder how such a woman had sneaked up behind her.
"Sorry love, but this pretty is all mine" Catwoman replied putting the diamond away
"I'm going to give you one more chance to hand it over" The woman snarled "Or you can end up like miss fancy pants business woman over there" She said as she smugly nodded towards the other room.
Lying on the bed in the next room, Selena could see the diamonds owner. Diana Prince. However, she didn't look like her usual thin athletic self. No, she now had a belly bigger than the one on the woman clad in the blue spandex.
"Admiring my previous handiwork" The woman said drawing Selena's attention back to her "Miss Prince over there didn't want to give me the diamond either. Thought she could fight me off. Well i think i one" The woman laughed causing her belly to bounce up and down
Selena still couldn't believe her eyes. She had seen the woman only moments ago with her arms wrapped around Bruce Wayne's as the walked out of some high class establishment. There was no possible way she could have gotten that big since then. Diana seemed to awake from her slumber as she began to groan. Selena wasn't sure if it was in pain or pleasure as she saw Diana's hands start to rub he swollen middle
"Now are you going to give me what i want or am i going to have to make you bigger then her" The woman said advancing forward
"I'd like to see you try" Catwoman hissed before she cartwheeled towards the woman, knocking her down with a quick kick to her belly
The woman screamed in shock as she fell backwards. Catwoman practically purred with delight as she heard the sound of the woman hit the floor.
"Well, it looks like i'll be walking out of here then" Selena said said standing over the fallen woman "Have fun trying to stand back up" making sure to be extra snarky with her remark, adding a swift slap to the woman's belly to do so
"I wouldn't be so sure about that" Belt Buster smirked
Catwoman felt something poke her stomach. Looking down she saw the barrel of the Belt Busters gun poking her. Her reflexes were quick but even they were too slow to avoid it. She felt a sharp shock go through her as she assumed the belt buster must have pulled the trigger, but after a few seconds she felt fine again. It seemed like her gun must have been faulty.
"What was that meant to do? shock me to death" Catwoman said looking down at the belt buster whom was still lying of the floor
"Oh i think you're about to see what it does" Belt Buster smirked widely
Suddenly, Catwoman doubled over, as a wave of pain swept through her body. Soon after she felt bloated and heavy, like she had just eaten the biggest meal ever. This feeling seemed to grow within her and she felt like she was being filled more and more in her stomach. Her belly seemed to push outwards and Selena was left shocked as her slim abs bloated outwards into a soft pouch.
"Oh no" Catwoman shrieked in horror as her belly inflated like a balloon in front of her
Although the pain of the ordeal had subsided, Catwoman's belly pushed out further and further as it seemed to grow fatter simply by breathing in. Her black leather catsuit cling to her bulging middle, highlighting just how big it was becoming. It had grown to the size of a basketball now and Selena could only rub the soft orb of fat as it expanded.
"Ohhh" Selena groaned
"whats the matter sweets? Feeling a little full? Maybe next time you wont be so greedy" Catwoman heard Belt Buster say
Looking up she noticed the big bellied woman had managed to get to her feet and stood only inches away from her. In no time at all, however, Catwoman's increasing girth soon closed the gap and the woman stood belly to belly with one another. Selena could feel her ballooning gut press against that of the Belt Busters as the woman simply laughed.
"You're almost bigger than me" belt Buster said excitedly "Soon you'll be bigger an this tight confining belt will just pop right off" She laughed "Its always the best part" she said before thrusting her over sized gut into Catwoman's
The force of Belt Busters belly sent Selena backwards as she fell back onto the large couch behind her. She felt herself sink into the cushions more then she usually would thanks to her added bulk and when she tried to stand herself back up, she found her belly was too heavy to move as it pinned her down. It had now grown so big that Selena couldn't actually see any part of her lap. Her bulbous fat belly covered all of it and was still growing.
"arghh" Catwoman yelled as she felt her belt reach its stretching limits and now started to dig into her bulging belly
"I think shes about to blow" Belt Buster giggled
As if on cue, Catwoman's belt burst apart with a loud pop. It went flying across the room and Selena sighed with relief even though it allowed her belly to expand out further.
"ahhh" Selena moaned as she sat rubbing her belly
"Now doesn't that feel better" belt Buster smirked as she placed her hand on Catwoman gut "why you're even bigger then miss Prince over there. You should have seen they way her belly exploded out of her fancy dress. I can't imagine how much it would have cost her. Oh well, not like she'd be able to fit into any of them now. Neither will you" Belt Buster laughed patting Selena's full belly
Her belly had finally stopped expanding by this point but the orb of fatty flesh which protruded from her middle was bigger than Selena would ever though possible. She never imagined she'd have a fat belly like she did hanging off her slime frame.
"My it looks like your hiding a big pumpkin under that outfit of yours" belt Buster said putting her finger to her chin to think "No wait, its more like a beach ball" She laughed before placing both her hands on Catwoman's full belly
Belt Buster proceeded to inspect her round orb of fat. Poking, jiggling and even rubbing her belly some more, Belt Buster seemed more then please with her work for tonight.
"The good news is, with a belly so full and tight people will merely think you're pregnant. With triplets of course" belt Buster looked up and smirked, staring into Catwoman's eyes for a moment "Well i'll guess i'll be taking whats mine then" she said as she reached around Catwoman colossal belly and retrieving the diamond
"urgh. No!" Catwoman yelled as she tried to stand up and stop the Belt Buster from taking it
Belt Buster laughed at Catwoman's feeble attempt to stop her, as she simple bumped her belly against the cat themed woman's, knocking her back down.
"Its over fatty. I won" Belt Buster laughed
Catwoman knew she had to admit her defeat. She was now too weak to move her ginormous gut and even if she could Belt Buster was now to quick for her and would overpower her.
"Ta, ta Catwoman. Have fun trying to squeeze through all those tight windows now" Belt Buster laughed before exiting the room
Catwoman could only slouch back into the couch, pinned down by her colossal gut. She had lost all energy after her failed attempt at stopping the Belt Buster and now had succumbed to the fact she was, for the time, being bound by her belly. She only hoped that the effects weren't permanent but judging by the looks of things they were. Now all she could do was wait until the feeling of fullness had gone and she regained her strength.
"So she got you too" A voice said and Selena looked up
The voice belonged to Diana Prince and she was now standing in front of Selena. She had forgotten that the woman was still here in the mist of all the fighting and weight gain. Now here she was almost towering over Catwoman, dressed in nothing but a bra and panties. Selena assumed she had panties on. It was hard to tell thanks to the orb of fat that now hung from her middle. It was not as big as Selena's but that didn't mean Diana's stomach was large by any means. It covered all of her waist and was so round and soft, it looked as though the woman had never seen physical exercise in her life.
"Well until Batman gets here i guess its just you and me" Diana said and Selena sensed a bit of menace in her voice "It would be rude not to punish you in some way. After all you did try and steal from me" Diana smirked
It was about then that Selena noticed the bag of donuts in the woman's hand. Gulping in terror she only hoped Batman would show up soon rather then later. Otherwise they'd need to tear down a whole wall and use a crane to get her out.
Catwoman Vs Th Belt BusterKing Arthur died in a fierce battle defending Camelot. His reign and the round table of knights fell also. This happened in the year of 537 a.d. Camelot was sacked by marauding Viking tribes from across the water to the east. They destroyed the Round Table and took all the gold, silver and other valuables. Camelot was in disarray with many of its people killed or enslaved.
The ivy covered castle walls still stood but the heart and soul of Camelot was no longer. There had been vicious fighting but Arthur’s knights were no match for the type of warfare the Viking hordes employed. They slew peasants and impregnated their women to further the Viking blood line. Their barbarous ways scattered people into the forest. No longer did they have Arthur’s protection.
After pillaging all that was valuable, the Vikings returned to their homeland leaving a destroyed and defeated populace.
Only one Viking stayed to live in the land of Camelot. Vulf was one of the less barbaric of the invaders. In one instance he shielded some of the peasants from the other invaders. He told them, “These people have no swords with which to fight and no valuables to take. Go and leave them alone.”
With Camelot looted, the invaders left the wreck of the castle and its inhabitants to return to their homeland. That is, most of them did. Vulf was old for a Viking fighter. He was still a large imposing figure with his massive flaming red hair. After many years of the warring Viking ways he had now lost his taste for fighting.
His eye found a young peasant girl as her eye found him. Named Judith, she was grateful that he had spared her and her friends. She saw a countenance in him that belied an inner peace. It showed strength as well as compassion.
Vulf and Judith spoke different verbal languages but theirs was a language of the heart. Their attraction led to a common betrothal.
Vulf set to work building a small structure in which the two would live. He felled trees to make some clear space. The trees became a lean to type of the structure with one narrow end open. In one corner of their abode he fashioned a stone fireplace. Many a fish or rabbit would be roasted over its open fire.
Vulf had set the cabin near the sheltering woods but also close to a clear stream that ran over a rock bottom. The stream supplied clean water for them. Fish were plentiful. Judith used a crude net of vines to trap a few of the silver scaled swimmers. Meanwhile Vulf now spent much of his time hunting in the forest. He fashioned a spear from a straight limb. An adept hunter, he could fell a deer or even several fish with a one straight throw. The meat was food for the table. The skins covered the outside of the cabin to seal the cracks from the weather.
One day while several fish dangled on his spear he heard the sound of pain. He abruptly turned expecting to see an enemy. Rather he spied an old man leaning on a cane. A long gray beard covered the features of his face. He was unusually dressed in a green fabric robe rather than the common leather from skins. His hunched frail body still carried a strong voice.
“I come in peace”, he said. “I have a wound that needs treatment. If you could help me I would forever be in your debt.”
In a moment the man passed out as his body collapsed on the moss covered forest floor.
“Judith, come quickly.”
The Vulf lifted the man. Judith held his head while he was slowly and gently carried him to the house. Vulf spread several deer skins over a crude bed framed with branches. Judith softened it with the large leaves from a Hazel tree. The wound in his side was treated as best they could. Judith made a warm soup on the corner of the stone fireplace. The man would often drink of this and nod his satisfaction then return to sleep. Vulf brought in several pelts he had skinned in order to cover their guest and keep him warm. Over time the man gradually began to regain his strength. After a month of kindness, and with Judith’s help the man was soon able to walk.
“I have no money to repay your kindness.” he told Vulf and Judith. “I can only promise what you cannot see. You are good people and you will have a pleasant life. You will be safe here so long as I shall live.”
He waved a hand around the room and with his cane walked toward the woods.
“Wait, cried Judith and Vulf in unison, “we never asked your name. By what shall we remember you?”
The man stopped at the edge of the clearing. He turned slowly, rotating around his cane, “Arthur called me Merlin.” With that he vanished.
In the second year of their being together a son was born to Vulf and Judith. They named the boy Pawlth. He was a robust child obviously of good stock. His piercing blue eyes foretold an ability to see clearly. Pawlth’s first few years were spent arranging sticks into cages where he trapped imaginary animals. Vulf would show him how to tan a skinned a hide. Pawlth was a fast learner.
Pawlth, barely in his fifth year, began to learn the archer’s bow. Being small but not only strong for his age Pawlth made a bow imitating his father’s bow. When he was not helping his mother with the chores Pawlth spent time with his bow and the reeds he used for arrows. Vulf was proud of his son when the boy began to bring in rabbits for dinner. As Pawlth grew, Vulf recognized the abilities of his son. He began to spend more time with him teaching the ways of a dangerous world to the child. Pawlth easily learned his father’s lessons. Though he brought down bigger prey and speared more fish, Pawlth needed more. He had learned much of the ways of a man from his father but he learned of the warmth of the soul from his mother. Killing for food for the family table was unemotional. He had yet to be temped to kill for any other reason.
As he grew to his sixteenth’s year Pawlth began to spend more time in the woods, living off the land. Soon he would spend as much as several weeks alone in the forest. He depended on his skills to survive. Once as Pawlth, with learned stealth, moved quietly through the woods he heard the cry of something hurt. It was spring time and the sprouting foliage hid the location of the cry. Pawlth approached cautiously with his bow string taunt. He placed an arrow and drew his bow. Clearing the brush he saw a young male wolf. One of his forelegs was caught in the fork of a sapling. Having pulled and jerked while trying to free himself, the young wolf had torn the bleeding skin down to the bone. Pawlth released the tension of the bowstring. At the point of giving up, the wolf allowed Pawlth to approach. Standing facing the wolf, Pawlth threw one shoulder in to the heavy side of the fork. Then he pushed the other side of the fork until it the small tree split. The exhausted young wolf dropped to the ground. His close set eyes peering over his long nose knew he was at the mercy of Pawlth. He didn’t know what to expect. Pawlth had a brief thought about killing the wolf, skinning him for his hide. Their eyes met. Pawlth looked into the steely eyes of the wolf and saw an animal that would depend on him for his life. This was the beginning of a bond between two souls.
Pawlth pulled a strip of rabbit hide from his bag. Dipping water from a nearby stream he gently washed the wolf’s leg. Pulling the skin back over the open flesh, he wrapped the wound with broad Hazel leaves. He then covered the leaf with the strip of hide. He bound this with vines, a procedure he performed each day for a week. He left each day to hunt for a rabbits or other game only to return each evening to the wounded wolf where they shared an evening meal.
“Okay wolf, if we are going to be friends you need a name. How about Marrok? That is the name of one of Arthur’s knights that my mother talked about.”
Pawlth spent the week in the woods close to Marrok. His arrows brought them food. He found that here in the solitary woods he enjoyed the company of Marrok. Pawlth felt a sense of value by helping one he could have killed. Marrok was beginning to walk now. He showed no indication that he wanted to leave Pawlth, in fact he edged closer to him at night when the forest seemed to close in.
After a month in the woods, something Pawlth did often, he knew it was time to go home. Marrok followed him closely even though he had what would be a permanent limp. It was a day’s walk as they picked their way through the forest. Pawlth brought down several rabbits he would present to his parents for a meal. He wasn’t sure of the welcome that Marrok would get.
Approaching the clearing of their home,Pawlth could see smoke. Then he saw there were only the embers of their home. His mother, Judith lay dead. Vulf was mortally wounded. There was nothing left but the stone fireplace.
Pawlth held the dying Vulf’s head with cupped hands. Vulf summoned a few last words, “My sword is behind the stone fireplace. I hammered it from knives. Merlin said it would be special, that it should be used it wisely.”
Pawlth gently laid Vulf’s lifeless head to one side while he turned to his mother. Even in death her beauty shown through.
Marrok sensed the situation and lay quietly,
very close to Pawlth. Marrok also had fear, rage, and revenge among other his thoughts.
There was a crude shovel. Vulf had fashioned it years ago, forging it over the fire. Pawlth used his father’s tool to lay him to rest. It took a day’s work to complete the two graves. With tears in his eyes, the sixteen year old Pawlth covered them at dusk.
Marrok, watched, his presence never wavered. The next morning Pawlth picked through the still warm embers of the house. He was looking for a specific item. Vulf had said it was behind the stone fireplace. He had hammered and shaped it from a Viking knife. Vulf used it to kill and tenderize the meat from the wild animals he caught.
Yes, it was still there. Pawlth did as he was told. Before he had never been allowed touch the sword. Strength swelled his head as he retrieved the sword from behind the stone.
He turned to Marrok. “Which way do we go?”
Marrok sniffed the ground. He immediately pointed toward a trail running north. Pawlth followed. He had spent many days in the forest but had never ventured to follow any trails. He liked to pick his own way. Marrok kept his nose down sniffing the trail left by the murdering thief.
Two days of following the path led by Marrok found them on a rocky hilltop. They slept easily that night. A full moon cloaked them. Awakening, Pawlth made out the remains of the castle at Camelot. His heart raced that here he might find the one he sought. He wiped the dew from blade of the sword and shouldered his bow. Suddenly Marrok stopped and lay on the ground. Pawlth thought this odd until he looked up. There stood a rather portly man dressed in green fabric not the usual leather clothes. He had no weapons.
“Pawlth, you don’t know me yet though I know you as my father knew Vulf your father. I know your quest. I know you will fail if you do not heed my advice. However, if you choose to take my assistance you, with the help of Marrok, will find the murderer of your parents. The one you seek now rules the castle. He has savagely and ruthlessly murdered his way to power. He and his warriors have enslaved many poor people at this time. There is a great need for you to come there now.”
“How do you know me? Who are you to know my name?” said Pawlth.
“You may remember that your father spoke of my father. He had a wound that your parents helped to heal. His name was Merlin, advisor to Arthur. After Arthur was killed, his work in Camelot was finished. Leaderless, Camelot was pillaged. My father took refuge in the forest not far from your home. One day he stopped to drink from a stream. Bent down, he never saw an errant bull charging. Thrown in the steam and injured, he dragged himself to your home.
Your parents were good people. They took him in, healed him, as if he were one of their own. My father did all he could to allow you and your family to live in peace. When his life ended I was too far away to help your parents. Something I have sincerely regretted. Perhaps I can atone for that. You will know me as Zoelin.”
“But why do you seek me now? I am only one with Marrok but there are many at the castle.
“I have seen through my father that you are of good stock. I watched you care for Marrok when it would have been easy to kill him. I know of your skill with the bow and the spear. All of these things will be necessary for you to defeat these thieves and invaders. If you have faith in me and my advice you will be the anointed one. We shall see if you have the strength and the will.”
Pawlth looked down to see Marrok’s eyes meet his. They seemed to agree that this quest must be done.
“Pawlth, you must hide the sword.”
“But what will I have for protection?”
“I will see that Marrok stays close and protects you from any real danger. You will need to befriend the ruler of the castle. When you have his confidence we will proceed further.” With that Zoelin vanished.
Pawlth scanned the granite outcropping close by. There was a narrow crevice nearby that Pawlth could reach. He placed Vulf’s sword carefully inside, just far enough back so it couldn’t be seen when covered with smaller stones.
Pawlth looked at Marrok, “Well, I suppose we have a job to do.” He gave Marrok a playful neck rub.
Marrok moved closer and rubbed Pawlth’s leg as if he understood. He may well have. Pawlth slung the long bow over his shoulder. He was already thinking about how to approach the castle.
He pulled out an arrow. When the tight bowstring loosened, the rabbit had no chance. Pawlth and Marrok shared the rabbit that evening. Pawlth knew this might be their only meal for a day or two.
The trek to the castle took another half day. The trail was getting wider with the tracks of horse drawn carts. Pawlth knew the pair must stay in the woods so as not to be seen. Walking through the forest was much more difficult.
Their arrival was a surprise when they stood at the gate. A guard appeared and challenged the pair.
“I am but a poor lad”, Pawlth said, “I am in need of lodging and food for the night. A pile of straw will do. My friend will do no harm,” he said as he ran his hand between Marrok’s ears.
“Wait here,” came the gruff voice of the guard. A short time later the guard motioned Pawlth to follow him. “But not him,” he said pointing to Marrock.
“We’ll leave. Marrok goes where I go.”
“Follow me then, I’ll let Grendal deal with you.”
Grendal, the chieftain of the castle, sat cross legged, on a stone, leaning against a castle wall. Arthur’s throne had long since been burned and destroyed. Grendal was not young but he held to a youthful appearance with a gravely voice and a square, stout frame.
“Why do you come here with that…. that animal? I should banish you this instant. However, I am intrigued by your friend. Does he have a name?”
“Marrok, I saved him from an injury. He is my constant companion.”
“You come here seeking lodging and food. Why do you seek that here?”
“The castle is large, I can see there are many rooms and many mouths to feed. Please allow me a place to sleep. I would only seek a few meager meals for myself and Marrok.”
“I see you carry a longbow. I believe you to be too young to use it well.” Grendal spoke. “Very well, I will see if you can earn your keep. I am sending for Tillian, the best archer we have at the castle. I will let the two of you furnish some entertainment”, said Grendal as his treacherous humor showed through.
Tillian appeared on the green, rough and unclean, but ready for a challenge.
“Each of you will only be allowed one arrow to face the other.” Declared Grendal, “We will see who is the better with a bow.” Then, looking at Pawlth, “We will see about lodging, as if it will be needed.”
The green was flat and long. The sun was high. Tillian enjoyed Grendal’s mirth, expecting a rewarding out come as the time neared.
Pawlth and Tillian each stepped off fifty paces. Tillian’s face showed disdain toward his young opponent, a mere boy. His eyes squinted with a warrior’s countenance. He had been in these contests before. The two turned to face each other. Tillian was quick to release his arrow. Pawlth hesitated, taking good aim. Tillian’s arrow was split in two by Pawlth’s arrow. Tillian’s arrow’s halves passed on each side of the stoic Pawlth’s head. Grendal stood and applauded Pawlth.
“Lad you have proven yourself to be here. I have never seen such marksmanship. Thus, I bestow upon you and Marrok lodging and sustenance for as long as you desire to be here.”
A disgraced Tillian sulked as he returned to the castle.
With that Grendal summoned Adelmar to find suitable quarters for the two. The room had a straw bed covered with hides. There was no door only a curtain. The window could be closed only with a leather flap. Pawlth needed the rest and lay down. After petting Marrok on the head and rubbing his silver mane both he and Pawlth were soon asleep. Marrok, however, took up a place in a corner facing the doorway.
Tillian had felt anger at the young Pawlth showing him up. He knew Grendal would soon replace him as the guard in favor. He drew his sword as he neared Pawlth’s doorway. Peering in he could tell Pawlth was asleep. He did not see Marrok on the floor when he approached his sleeping target. Tillian grasped the sword with both hands raising it to stab Pawlth. The sword hit the ground as Marrok closed his jaws around Tillian’s neck. As he had done when catching wild game Marrok shook Tillian violently. Tillian never made a sound as he lay dead on the floor with a broken neck. Pawlth awakened to witness the spectacle. He dragged the limp Tillian out into the courtyard.
Back in his room he stroked the silver mane once more. As he lay down he pulled Marrok close with an arm draped over him. They slept peacefully the rest of the night. The morning was another matter.
The commotion at dawn awoke the people of the castle. Grendal shoved his way through the crowd.
Pawlth waited.
Grendal pointed his sword at Pawlth, “What is the meaning of this?”
“Tillian came to my room when I was asleep. As he raised his sword Marrok lunged. Look and you will see the marks on Tilian’s neck. Marrok shook him till his neck was broken. Look inside my room and you will see Tilian’s sword stuck where it fell upright in the floor by my bed. I had no ill will toward Tillian. Why he attacked I do not know.”
Grendal said to the crowd, “Carry him off way out in the woods and cover him with dirt.”
He turned to Pawlth, “Both jealously and revenge can be cruel to the holder.”
Pawlth and Marrok approached Grendal to thank him for the night’s lodging.
Grendal spoke, “Pawlth you have proven to be the one to sit beside me. You will share my companionship in this castle. There are many stories to tell. When I would range around the forest I slew many men and often their women. I recall one fellow put up such a fight that I burned his house down. He fought to where he would die shortly. The woman was…. well a woman. Pawlth, you never want to leave one alive lest they come to find you.”
Now Pawlth knew for sure. He steeled himself to not reveal his quest, that would come later.
“This evening all of us will share a feast. Ale will flow like water in the stream.” Grendal shouted. “You, Pawlth, will be anointed as my honored guard. It will be a joyous occasion.”
Pawlth was careful to only appear to partake of the ale. Grendal was not so. He imbibed copious amounts of it. Neither did Pawlth have a hunger to slice off a slab of the pig for dinner. Again, he kept the pretense of eating and drinking. The feast lasted to well into the night.
Pawlth helped an incapacited Grendal from the table. He leaned him against the outside castle wall. Grendal was now in a stupor from the ale. Pawlth took a rope from his pocket. He bound Grendal’s wrist. Minutes later, Pawlth brought around a horse that he had staked out. He backed the horse up to Grendal. Splitting the hair on the horse’s tail, Pawlth wove the hair over and under Grendal’s hands tying them together to the tail. Marrok made sure the horse stood still until dawn was breaking.
A surprised Grendal began to wake, “What is the meaning of this,” he said.
Pawlth began, “You are the one that killed my father Vulf and my mother Judith. I could have plunged you through with your own sword. But that would have been too swift. Sometimes killing one can be too easy. Your punishment is one that will cause you pain and agony. Even then you might not survive. You will have had time to think of all your evil deeds as you wallow in what the horse does naturally. So now, as you are tied to the tail of a horse where this horse steps you will also step. Perhaps some soul in a far off place will free you from the horse. You understand that you must never come back to this castle. If you do I will know that you had time to remember all your evil deeds. You will then remember no longer.”
Marrok moved to Pawlth’s side as Pawlth slapped the flank of the horse to get him moving. Grendal had no choice but to follow the horse’s hooves no matter the consequences.
By this time many of the people of the castle had gathered around. When Grendal was out of sight there erupted a cheer,
“Pawlth, Pawlth, Pawlth.”
A lady stepped from the crowd. “I have watched you all the time you have been here. You have shown courage as well as confidence. Even in your youth, everyone here will accept you as the new chieftain. And you are as handsome with that blond hair and square jaw as you are young.” she said while parting her hair on each side of her radiant face.
“You know me but I don’t know you. What is your name?”
“I am known as Ardith. I have many duties here including serving the chieftain. I will be your host and at your command.”
Pawlth was uncertain of this turn of events. Marrok seemed to feel the same. Never before had Pawlth been the object of such attention. His time in the forest did little to prepare him for this elevated position. He didn’t realize his own naiveté could betray his desires.
Pawlth had never come under the spell of a woman before. This was a new experience for him. Suddenly he acquired some new feelings that he had not known. He did notice Ardith’s flowing curves. The way she parted and caressed her long hair fascinated him. Her tanned round face with its slanted almond eyes followed him, beckoning.
But for now there were things to do at the castle. Even though he knew his own longbow was true, he sent Adelmar and Aart into the forest to find game for the evening meal. He spent the rest of the day inspecting the castle and the fields around it. He spoke with the enslaved ones who farmed the land and grew the wheat. He watched as a horse drawn mill ground the meal to make bread. In the butcher’s quarters hung pigs for bacon.
Pawlth knew it was not right to keep them against their will. If they were empowered with a fair return most would stay he thought. He decided that tomorrow he would speak to all of them. At day’s end as the sun was setting below the tree line, Pawlth returned to the castle as the evening dinner of a small boar and several fish were prepared. Pawlth sat at the head of the table, flanked by Marrok and Ardith. This was not a round table but a large split log presenting a flat face to the diners.
To conquer the darkness the ends of some saplings were dipped in a mixture of grease and wax. Positioned around the table, when lit they provided a meager but adequate amount of light.
Pawlth and Ardith conversed long into the night. The fires for light had long since burned out. At one point Pawlth mentioned he would free the slaves in the morning.
“Oh, don’t do that.” Said Ardith, “The poor things won’t know what to do. We need them to tend the garden, cook and do other chores. The castle just wouldn’t work without them.”
“Are you sure?” said Pawlth.
“Yes, we need them. Not only that but we must send out a raiding party to bring us more sustenance. We have little gold left to pay our warriors. We are poor.”
Ardith spent more than a few nights using her whiles to convince Pawlth of the need to do her bidding. Those nights Marrok found other things to do. They weren’t spent near Pawlth.
Pawlth rolled over to face the morning sunlight, his eyes barely open. A green robed Zoelin was standing over him.
“Pawlth, do not allow your heart to overrule your soul.” With that he vanished.
Pawlth awoke hungry. He didn’t notice that Marrok was not by his side when Ardith joined him.
Ardith had spent several weeks convincing Pawlth.
“There is a village by the coast only three days from here.” said Ardith. “I spent some time there. I know it has few defenders. Being on the coast there are ships that bring in gold treasure from other countries. As chieftain you must realize the need to bolster our coffers. We must pay our warriors to survive.”
Pawlth appreciated Ardith’s thoughts but this was all too soon for him.
“Pawlth, you with your longbow and three warriors could vanquish that village. Then you could keep this castle in good time. We would be sustained for many years.”
Pawlth again failed to notice that Marrok spent little time at his side since the arrival of Ardith. Pawlth remembered the words of Zoelin.
Saying to himself, “He must have meant for me to have the courage to do what is necessary to save the castle.” Pawlth failed to realize this was Ardith’s wish not his.
Marrok kept his distance from the pair. He watched the two of them for a few moments then he turned away, going into the forest.
“Ardith, it has been several weeks, I must do as we spoke. I will select four of our best warriors and set out tomorrow.
For three days the group lived off of the land as they trekked toward the village of Glenshire. Lying quietly atop a hill, Pawlth parted the tall grass to view the entire layout of Glenshire. It was not a large village. Pawlth decided to wait until the fleet left the harbor. Then as Ardith had said there would be few men to defend the store.
Deeming the time to be right, Pawlth and his men descended upon the village. With his longbow Pawlth brought down two defenders. To his surprise at least one hundred defending warriors appeared. Pawlth’s longbow was useless in the hand to hand fighting that occurred. Pawlth could not comprehend the vicious defense where there was supposed to be such a small amount of resistance. Did they know he was coming? He put up a valiant fight. They were clearly out numbered. Pawlth and all but one of his men fell to the defenders.
Screaming, Aart approached the castle after he had been away for more than a week. “They are all gone! Pawlth has been slain. I escaped by swimming down the shoreline of the harbor. There were many of them, only few of us. I am the only one to survive.”
With that Aart collapsed at Ardith’s feet. She allowed a faint smile to cross her lips. Her plan had worked. She would alone be the chieftain of the castle.
That day Marrok stood by the castle gate. He heard Aart’s words. He had seen Ardith’s reaction.
His silver gray coat glimmering in the morning sun, he slowly turned away never to return to the castle. With a gait marred by a crippled leg, Marrok followed the trail to his new den in the forest. He disappeared with a heavy heart. It was difficult for him to catch game given that he still had a slight limp. Still he managed to provide enough for himself and Caelan. Marrok had chosen Caelan for a mate a few months ago. She had a slight build for a wolf. Her strange blue eyes set peered out over her long nose. Yet she always exuded a warm feeling when Marrok entered the den. With the passing of Pawlth, Marrok spent most of his time providing and caring for Caelan.
One chilly night the wind’s howl was muted as Caelan lay against the bank of leaves that Marrok had made for a bed. A slight cry was heard in the den. Caelan had only one pup. Marrok hovered near.
Caelan had licked the pup clean when something made a shuffling noise. A faint but distinct glow began to surround the pup. A green clad figure already known to Marrok appeared.
“I anoint thee Lyulf, son of Marrok and mother by Caelan.” said Zoelin waving a hand over the pup. “Marrok you must retrieve the sword placed in the stone crevice by Pawlth. Keep it close. I can tell you now that Lyulf will need it when he comes of age.”
Zoelin vanished leaving a shard of green fabric in Marrok’s paw.
Marrok scratched away the stones that had hidden the crevice. He retrieved the sword from the granite’s lair where it had been placed some time ago. Carefully, he laid it by the sleeping pup knowing that Lyulf would one day find solace in the company of Zoelin. Caelan smiled at the pup and extended a paw to Marrok.
OK, Jane Austen enthusiasts, what do you think of Sanditon, the fragment of her last novel left unfinished at the death? I read it last winter. This evening I heard a programme on BBC Radio 3 which suggested if she had finished it, it would have changed the nature of the English novel. The theory was that it was a pair with Persuasion as both books are about risk. I’m not at all convinced. Certainly it doesn’t seem to be likely to be based so much on the formula of a young woman making a satisfactory marriage, and is more concerned with a satiric view of a society.
But it seems crude to me compared to the earlier works. In them characters give themselves away in the course of dialogue. In the fragment of Sanditon, the characters satirised each do so in a long monologue – which is far less subtle.
She wrote the fragment in the months before her death and although in letters she insisted she was getting stronger, she must have known at least unconsciously that she wasn’t. The characters satirised are all hypochondriacs and I have the impression Jane was pathetically if heroically trying to deny her own ill health by mocking those who claimed to be ill with no good reason.
Does anyone else have any ideas?
SanditonHoly mirror on the wall,
who is the craziest of them all ?
You, mi lord, are the craziest seraphin ever,
but don't forget never ever,
God is your father and he gives you madness
so spread his message, of insane forgiveness.
love life, hate moral, everyone can merry these angelic choral.
God is white and blue, but not for every jigaboo.
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UntitledYou are currently viewing our boards as a guest which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community you will have access to post topics, communicate privately with other members (PM), respond to polls, upload content and access many other special features. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free so please, join our community today!
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UntitledHello all,
I'm new to this forum. A passage I've been trying to remember in vain, brought me here. IIRC, this is from either the Merchant of Venice or Hamlet, but I'm looking for this passage where one of the characters talks about how grief / misfortune when it befalls a person comes not as a sole incident but in multiples, or some such.
I'd confused that passage with Hamlet's soliloquy that goes "slings and arrows of outrageous fortune...". Any help locating this is appreciated.
Thanks!
Krsn
We had it and the sun was about to leave
A village on the deep of desert was cut off
A wild land of none plants grow
And the sandhill already had to move
A woman of a shabby-dressed welcomed us
Her husband being went for hunt
And there was additional place to take a rest
We are five men and two wives
The place is likely unvisited at all
And we gathered ourselves no to go remote
We picked the sources of our dinner and wait
Perhaps a man comes and we find sociable
No one answered us until the morning comes
A man of thick mustaches he would greet
And two hunted bustards he dangled on a saddle
He said welcome, you're good guests
And you had to spend three days more
At a next dawn we heard rifles' shoots
We so much feared and had to escape
The senior fellow said, you may not move
And we picked up our breath for the last moment
On that deserted place, what could we do?
On the next day we had another trip
And the man accompanied us so long
The time is hard and the water is few
We had to go nineteen miles perhaps we reach
And we should pass by the salty areas
There we had a bit sorrow how we come
And one wife began to wail and shout
You're not men to ever accompanied
And the march turning as the soft of the place
We had it but we might never think more.
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..angryI am reading Frankenstein for an literature class I am currently taking and for this post I am choosing to both summarize letters 1-4 in the beginning of the novel; after readinfg my summary I would like to discuss some of the themes that one may see in the beginning of this novel.
In the beginning of the novel we meet Robert Walton, a sea captain who is on a journey to find a passage from the Pacific to the Atlantic. He writes many letters to his sister in London in named Mrs. Saville. This journey is something that he talked/ dreamed about for many years and now that he gets to do it, he is very happy and since none of his other dreams have manifested themselves he feels as though this must be successful. The writer of the letters is happy that this dream of his will allow for him to satisfy an 'ardent curiosity" since he will be setting foot on another part of the world that someone hasn't been on yet.
To prepare for the trip Walton takes practice trips to Russia and as he takes this practice trip one of the things on his mind is that he doesn't have a friend who will be able to maintain the disappointment that he will feel if the trip doesn't go as he plans.
As it begins, the journey is going well but then in the middle of the ocean they see a sleigh that is being pulled by dogs which then disappears; then the next day there is another sleigh and the person on this sleigh then boards the ship nearly frozen. Walton comes to find out that the person is out looking for someone who ran from him (which happens to be the person from the first sleigh); as Walton spends more time with him he comes to find out how unhappy this person is and that at some point he had the same dreams as Walton but had to abandon them.
For me, I see the development of a heroic theme beginning. Walter is going on an expedition to discover something that is unknown to man to the point he is willing to risk his life just to do this.
What are some other themes that you all see developing in letters 1-4? Let's chat!
Taking the Five South
We were approaching Solana beach, and I knew we only had about twenty-five miles to go. It reminded me of that song 25 Miles to Go by Edwin Star. Steven hadn’t said more than two words in the last ten miles. Something was going on inside his noggin. When you know a person over 50 years, you may not know exactly what they’re thinking, but you can tell when they’re having it out with their grey matter.
“Did I tell you about the Glass Bottles Incident?” Steve asked me.
“Not yet.”
“Mike collected glass bottles, all sizes, shapes and colors. He’d line them up along the highest beam of the patio so the sun would shine through the various tints. They gave him the only esthetic appreciation he could garner from Betty’s sterile house. Not a magazine anywhere, no pictures on the wall, no open books, the couch still covered in plastic, an esthetic wasteland only T. S. could enjoy.
Then one afternoon when Mike was drinking in Point Loma across from the Naval Training Center, she ordered Deb, “Get out the yellow pages and phone every bar within five miles.”
The task proved impossible and Betty lost her patience. She went out to the patio and grabbed a chair and a broom. She climbed up and knocked every one of the bottles down; crashing on the cement, including a pair of antique door-knobs turned purple by sitting them in the Mojave, a souvenir of their honeymoon in Tucson, Arizona.”
The Del Mar racetrack and fair grounds were off to the right. The county fair was over on the fourth of July so the parking lots were empty. You could see breaking waves making white foaming lines in the turbulent blue water just beyond. In Mexico near Caliente they exercise the horses in the sand if that’s got anything to do with anything.
“Towards the end Mike had a heart attack and was trying to recover in a wheel chair. About a month before he’d bought Betty a white shag rug; so long they combed it with a special rake. She wouldn’t allow him to cross the living room, since the wheel chair made tracks. She forbade him access, like the Colossus of Rhodes with its legs crossed.
When Mike passed away a few months later, Betty was silent all through the funeral, until the very end, just when everyone thought the curtain was going down. It wasn’t. Betty suddenly threw herself over the casket, like Sarah Bernhardt, real dramatically, and sobbed like Nefertiti over her son. If I’d been a member of the Academy I would have given her my vote.”
“I guess she was the most evil woman you ever met.”
“I don’t think she was evil, exactly,” he said. “But she was bitter, extremely bitter. You know we were cleaning out the garage and I found some old pictures of Deb’s. Mike and Betty were in some black and whites. She was still skinny, and he was young and fresh-faced, you know that’s how they used to describe F. Scott Fitzgerald, fresh faced, and was wearing a sailor suit. He was in the navy and I even found a commendation for service to his country signed by President Reagan. They were a couple, a romantic item back then.
“She didn’t look mean?”
“Naw, in fact she looked happy. But I think I got her figured out. Betty’s given name was Olga, and she came from a small town in the Ukraine. She was uneducated and most likely superstitious. She had her own view of how the world turned.
So she immigrates, ends up near Rochester, New York. That’s where Deb was adopted. And that’s one of the keys, adoption.
While really young she marries some guy before Mike. He works for the railroad and when he drops dead a year later, she inherits his pension or something. She’s in the pocket. She meets Mike, young and fresh-faced o’Catholic, o’ curly-haired manly Mike.
She marries him but after a while they find out they can’t have children. Betty is sterile, as sterile as her living room thirty years later. They adopt Deb. But Betty, turns out, isn’t mother material. She only wants a kid for social status, to look like and feel equal to “all the other girls”.
When Deb doesn’t cooperate she gets beat with a traditional wire hanger or stylish high-heel. Mike is aware of it, but for some reason never confronts Betty. It’s his tragic flaw, and affects his relationship with Betty and Deb too. The poison seeps from the offending vein into the precious tissues of both heart and lungs.
They both drink and both smoke. They deceive. Deb sees it while she’s growing up and copies the style with drinks and smokes and takes medicinal powders of her own. Then she runs away from home and eventually meets what she calls later, “A skinny arrogant dope dealer”, just what she needed. The cycle continues with another generation, only the substances change. The tragedy just doesn’t live on, it thrives.
I remember Deb telling me that one time Betty was giving so much cash to St. Didicus church that the priest came by and returned the money, said they couldn’t take it.”
“Really?” My eyes grew as big as the saucers in Earth vs. Flying Saucers.
“Serious. She knew at that point what she’d done, and was attempting to buy a stairway to heaven. Alienating the two people closest to you was getting to her. But it didn’t stop there. It went on until the day she died.”
Off to the right was Torrey Pines State Beach, overseen by stately sandstone cliffs topped with weathered pine trees bend to angles sculpted by the wind. La Jolla would be next. We’d be at the end of our journey soon but Steven was nowhere near finished.
“I don’t think Betty was happy in this life and she won’t be in the next. Bitterness poisoned her well. I used to think what made her worst of all was the fact her daughter was pretty. Did I tell you that?”
“You’re kidding. Most women want pretty daughters.”
“There was a point when Deb was growing up when Betty would associate with other women. She lived in Tierra Santa and was a social climber. You know how women talk and compare shoes, dresses, diets, make-up, and their children? Well, it was obvious that however pretty Deb was, she wasn’t Betty’s biological daughter. Everybody in Betty’s social group suspected it. Deb was Greek. Betty was Ukrainian. The colors didn’t match; the facial structure was different. Betty convinced Mike to purchase Deb like a Cadillac just for show. I’ve seen the adoption papers.
It was something else that really bittered her up. I figured this out after reading Thomas Hardy. Betty was of the opinion that nature or god or even random circumstances were against her. She saw no recourse to her pattern of life. Sterility, death, bitterness, alienation of affection, followed by bitterness in the extreme. She couldn’t seem to bail her way out of it in church by buying penance, a dispensation, or confessing. The only thing left was sentencing by the microbial guillotine, and nature let the microbes do it.
She passed away of sepsis. So, evil? Not exactly evil, but maybe the next worst thing.”
We rushed down the gentle slope past Mission Beach and Sea World Drive. In Old Town, Presidio Park with it's look-alike Spanish mission museum was on the hill to the left. The real mission was down Mission Valley a couple of miles. People that don't know San Diego think the Presidio is it.
Natives know better. I was a native, and Steve was too. He just finished Return of the Native by Thomas Hardy about a month ago. Back as a senior in high school he convinced the entire English class to read it. At the time he had the mistaken idea it was a Maugham-like story, though he’d never read Maugham. Thought the setting was an island in the South China Sea. You know, natives huga-buga, huga-buga.
It was Hardy, an example of a tough-read Hardy. He still schleps the guilt of how his classmates suffered through it. An entire class suffering because of one dude’s impulsiveness and enthusiasm.
But since then he re-read it, along with two bios of Hardy, then Tess, Mayor of Casterbridge, Far from the Madding Crowd, Wessex Tales, and Jude the Obscure. Said if he read the masters his own writing was bound to improve. “Doing Hardy,” he called it.
We turned off the freeway and headed to my home in North Park. It was the same house where he’d put the candy dish my parents got in Venice on his head when he was twelve right before it fell down and crashed. It was the same house we squirted Seven-up in bottles at each other after school, and he’d come home an hour late, all sticky, and catch hell from his mother, who had been a master sergeant in the WACS and knew how to give hell in a tender loving way. It was neither an unfamiliar nor uncomfortable place, furnished with two immense Springer Spaniels as friendly as old shoe leather.
As we were unloading in the garage I noticed his stacks of manuscripts. I asked the good fellow, “How much of what you write is personal stuff, and how much is fiction?”
“Why, all of it,” he answered without hesitation. “The world is my pen fodder.”
©Steven Hunley 2013
We're Taking the Five SouthI don't need your cab
As I cant tell you when I'm home
So just drive
Drive me past people
So I can see them
But they can't get in
Drive me to the place
By the recycling place
By the shopping place
Take me to a bar
Tell me your name.
Take me the coast Dan
Take me to the sand,
Take me to the sea
Where sugar is spun to floss
And burgers jump in buns
And fish jump into paper
To be beside the chips
And the water batters
The quay
Leave me beneath
Painted bulbs
Stale beer warmth
the winning tune of three bells
Seaweed
The distant humanity
Of a ship out at sea.
Take me home Dan
Cab man.
Set me free.
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Clarion CallHigh up to my heart-runway
She picked up my atrium
Then up to my ventricle she breezed
On a single letter of echoing chamber
She run on a giddily divestment
And kept on a device like locksmith
A woman trying makes me her device
To control on
Then to chain her elements,
By a pen un-borrowed to cultivate
Then to hatch up at a threatening summer
She backed up to my society
On a pearl voice but she escaped
Covering up the perfume not to run
And she gladly heard me her tone
Of slipping tongue hardly perceive
She took away my name,
To be fastened on her girdle
Then she grinds as a machine
And shouted
Loftily as a bigamous used to lie
No more and she grumbled
I asked my coward heart not to run out
But to be ready for another disaster
[unable to retrieve full-text content]
is masculinity an archetype in literature? every book is/has a hero with a mark to the masculine... masculinity and literatureI'm doing some research, and a couple of articles make reference to a story by Hesse (or possibly a story in an anthology edited by Hesse). The story concerns Jure Grando, a vampire from (what is now) Croatia. The story was based on a "real" folklore vampire, and was first recorded by Baron Valvasor in his 15-tome work, The Glory of the Duchy of Carniola. From here, it was included in The Rhone's Antiquarian (?) - any information about this would be welcome, as I can't find anything about it in English.
This was where Hesse picked up the story, and either re-wrote it or included it in an anthology. This looks like the best candidate:
Spuk--Hexengeschichten-Rheinischen-Antiquarius-Hermann-Hesse
Is it in here? Any other information? Any English translations?
Thanks.
Looking for a short story by Hesse about Jure Grando, a vampireYou are currently viewing our boards as a guest which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community you will have access to post topics, communicate privately with other members (PM), respond to polls, upload content and access many other special features. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free so please, join our community today!
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Frankenstein Monster SympathyYou are currently viewing our boards as a guest which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community you will have access to post topics, communicate privately with other members (PM), respond to polls, upload content and access many other special features. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free so please, join our community today!
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Where to Start With Stephen DixonThe most helpful advice I received came from a journalist. Since I was working as a reporter, he said that I should use verbs that require an object. Active verbs make the story better to read. In addition, he said my writing style should be economical since a story can only take up so much space. Prioritizing information is key. Essentially, active verbs and prioritizing information are essential not only for a journalist, but also for writers of fiction.
Helpful Advice for WritingGazing out the window beyond my pint
at the dull landscape
this pub is just a speck upon.
Lancashire awaits me over the hill
Not quite Mexico or a promise of freedom
to my outlaw.
I can see the valley I just drove up from,
down to the the scene of my misdeeds.
There is no escaping them.
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Composer Bios, ChopinGreetings, I just wrote this. I don't think I am a writer or anything but I am trying to improve and I want to get some writing in front of others and see what other people think of my ideas. It is very short, relatively. Hopefully you all enjoy! Don't be afraid to contact me at all!
To Keep the Peace
The explosion was beautiful. It caused no strain on my visual senses. All it did was ignite the light in my eyes. Expanding the fire in my heart. Creating a strength inside me that was fueled by them. The stars that is. It was almost sad to me, sometimes, that I got off watching them die. Yet I knew deep down that they were reborn. The death was not true in any way. It was complex, aggressive, passionate, and most of all… to me. I took it in every time. It stole my breath, if I had one. See we as a species, per say…stopped needing to breath a long time ago. Some would consider it ancient history. As we are almost ethereal at this point we move through the cosmos exploring. We don’t intervene with anything but we are here none the less. Officially we are observers. Not to be confused with what some might believe as scientists. We do not have goals or even need them. We exist to be. We exist to appreciate what we have become and what becomes.
Seeing creation happen is one of the silliest things. Since we have passed that so long ago. We watch as people continue to try and capture these small places. Sometimes they try to capture worlds or galaxies. Not knowing they are even being watched. So very silly. Such smaller forms they are, yet we are not without our own problems. With every good comes a bad. It is the way the universe works. Creations are made to exist in combination. Yin and yang was one of the most intelligent and particularly my favorite thought because it came so close to a law of the universe. With every good there is a bad that must compliment it. Creating balance. While we stay out of the way of this chaotic place and observe we are not the only one in existence who think. We are just a set of some. Others have their own ideas and their own plans. Some are bad and some are shameful with their intentions to others. Thinking so lowly of other life forms that they forget where they came from. It is truly sad to think how far we have come just to be still so controlled by laws we could never change. Yet we have a system. We have created something that suits this particular crime.
Each creature is connected. Just as we are all stardust, we are all in essence one another just each other at another time. Reflecting decisions made in a past or future we may never get to see. Pieces of ourselves get tossed about and re-used just to become another part of the bigger whole that is the universe. Knowing this we use being who are on a lower cognitive state then us. We imprison people who have made mistakes and we send them to planets to endure the trials of living again. Being forced to become a mortal once more and face the trials of evolving yet again.
It seems tragic but it is not, I assure you. See judgement must be passed to protect a dream. Utility dictates a specific idea, protect the pack. While utility has its downfalls on a larger scale it is relatively effective on evaluating negative actions. Morally ambiguous actions tend to destroy the theories actions. That is neither here nor there. When we capture one of us who is hell bent on bringing a species to their end we begin the process. Since we are basically beings of energy we have to turn their energy into particles transmitted into a new being. It is pretty quick. Just a mere 3-5 rotations around the sun of most terrestrial planets.
Once we have completed the hardening of this energy the energy is no longer in a translucent existence like the rest of us. We have contained it into an offspring of a species we deemed correct for the guilty party. They will lose their memory of being like us and they will live out their days. The energy trapped inside the neurotransmitters, unconnected and unfiltered. Like a puzzle unable to be solved.
We have had some trouble every now and then. Well, not really trouble rather interesting results. There have been times where correct “recipes” of certain natural and unnatural ingredients can bring out in people. Sometimes they find glimpses into the past or future. The “brain” assembles some of the pieces, a very very small amount together and it creates some interesting glimpses for the interpreter. Which creates some very confused cells!
Together we are keeping peace amongst ourselves and finding that we are able to observe the universe without having adverse reactions to others as well. While still using the effective laws we are able to keep ourselves ordered and manage to maintain our peaceful existence.
-Order of the EBS001
Brand new here. Wanted to share thisThe choice is not felicitous:
To drown in the mud of the lower lawn,
Or to haul oneself onto that arid plain,
the sidewalk sheet,
There to bake to a rust-colored crispQuick introduction about myself.
My favorite authors: Proust, Gaddis, Kafka, Foucault, and Derrida.
I am passionate about a wide range of subjects and ideas and would love to meet individuals like myself.
Currently reading: Life: A User's Manual by Perec.
HelloYou are currently viewing our boards as a guest which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community you will have access to post topics, communicate privately with other members (PM), respond to polls, upload content and access many other special features. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free so please, join our community today!
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religion and loveHere is is sentence from Abraby by James Joyce:
All my senses seemed to desire to veil themselves and, feeling that I was about to slip from them, I pressed the palms of my hands together until they trembled, murmuring: 'O love!O love!' many times.
The whole fiction can be found here: Fiction: Araby and the target sentence can be located in paragraph 6.
My questions are: what does "all my senses" refer to? Does it refer to "sensual feelings" the boy has for the girl? And does "veil themselves" mean "to suppress the sensual feelings"? If so, what does "slip from them" mean, slip from the senses -- indicating even though "I" I attempt to suppress them, I fail or I can't? Is it implied here that the boy is atually masterbating? Please enlighten me on this.
Here an answer I got from another forum:
I think he means the usual five senses, since he talks of rain and light, etc.
The preceding sentence is
Some distant lamp or lighted window gleamed below me. I was thankful that I could see so little.
He feels he's slipping from the sense world and rubs his eyes to awaken to it.
What does think of this understanding?
How to understand and interpret these lines from Araby by James JoyceI have long loved Pope’s satiric poetry but I have recently read this earlier, non-satiric poem. Here it is in full http://ift.tt/1TDO9Es
The natural description come across as very odd to anyone used to romantic description of nature, all much in conventional terms: to anyone familiar with the landscape near Windsor (now sadly suburban) the references to “mountains” are just funny. To our ears the references to Queen Anne (a rather uncharismatic person by all accounts) sound sycophantic “At length great ANNA said, ‘Let discord cease!/ She said! the world obey’d, and all was peace!” I ask you.
But there are some very good things in it. Here is the description of the Norman kings oppressing the Saxons to create their great hunting grounds (in contrast to the happy pastoral landscape of Windsor Forest under Queen Anne):
"Not thus the land appear’d in ages past,
A dreary desert, and a gloomy waste,
To savage beasts and savage laws a prey,
And Kings more furious and severe than they;
Who claim’d the skies, dispeopled air and floods,
The lonely lords of empty wilds and woods."
I think the final line is wonderful.
Alexander Pope - Windsor ForestYou are currently viewing our boards as a guest which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community you will have access to post topics, communicate privately with other members (PM), respond to polls, upload content and access many other special features. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free so please, join our community today!
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goes on a missionThere seems to be an appaling spam attack going on with vast amount of probably quack medicine being promoted.
I've reported a few such posts, but I'm sure the administrators are aware of the problem.
I'm sure they have our sympathy and will be due our thanks when they've dealt with it.
Best wishes to the mods and adminI found this site by googling "Hamlet Forum." One reply on "To be or not to be," is so thoughtful and profound, I wanted to be in same "forum" as its author.
I'm working on a Hamlet project. No one in my real life is interested in reading what I have or hearing me enthusiastically rant about "hawk from a handsaw." Likely, few online are interested either but it's nice to find people whose eyes don't glaze over as waves of yawns are suppressed when Shakespeare is the subject.
Hello.You are currently viewing our boards as a guest which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community you will have access to post topics, communicate privately with other members (PM), respond to polls, upload content and access many other special features. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free so please, join our community today!
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Who do you think was more of a monster, Victor or his new creation?The Tyger is my favourite poem in all the world, and I was thrilled when my 17 year old son decided to create a short 3d animated film of The Tyger, and asked that I read the poem.
Really happy with how it turned out
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AUqowAVgZxA
Do have a look, and hope you like it.
I wouldn't be alive if not for this poem
Thats a story for another day though
I always felt 'THE TYGER' deserved a certain amount of 'controlled menace' to it
3D Animation of THE TYGER By William BlakeDorsally pain and the cannula is on his vein
Feeling patient but patiently he disagreed
Insomuch his idle organ pretends the pain
They give an order for a surgical operation
As much as they asked who suffers to obey
But in all diseases they lack to diagnose
Simply their way is out of a pinning plan
Let them going back perhaps they never trap
It is full opaque when no determination is clear
Everything is absent as if a closed slash
As a turning away sun shines in one eye
For poor it shuns but for riches gives heat
Here the etiology is to whom!
Inside jungles wearing the jacket of professor
They never learn how they could teach!
On their triangle fingers supposing the way
Feeling is captured when there is no hope
That's the man on our society we knew
He is still patient even had not cut off organ
But on his society he was cut off
That's the media invests the human to die
With no reason to be the victim of doctors
Waiting one's turn to cut off his intact organ
And at evening maybe not return home
“Love, the poet said, is woman's whole existence.” – Virginia Woolf
Renowned author C Radhakrishnan’s book ‘Heart-Rending Times’ is the second book in the Arjun trilogy of books. It is set in the time period between 1970’s and 80’s in India. It tells the tale of a group of people dealing with life in its various hues as much as it tells the story of a nation coming to grips with vast socio-political and economic changes. Anuradha is a woman extraordinaire and is often a living metaphor for the country she resides in. She is strong and steadfast even in the face of the harshest of challenges. She is strength, she is power, and she is love. Even gods and demons will not be able to break her willful spirit.
Since the story is set a few decades back it fits the description of a historical novel. That being said, the historical events described merely form a backdrop for the narrative and are not the main focus. And I love novels which are set in places and time period that I am not too familiar with. India has always fascinated me and it was mouth-watering to get to know this country and its people from a critical time period. The seventies and eighties were a different period altogether in the U.S. as well. A lot of social and political changes were taking place and it was interesting to note that half way across the world, India too was going through this strange upheaval.
The story revolves around four principal characters in Anuradha, Ashok, Nikhil and Devendra. I really don’t want to reveal the plot or explain the characters in great detail because then you will miss out on the elation of discovering the extraordinary circumstances these people find themselves in. Since I don’t know much about the culture of the land, I don’t know how much has been portrayed as real and how much has been added for dramatic effect. But the character of Devendra, who is a police officer, will sicken you to your stomach. His actions are evil and in part reflective of the institutional decay – the powers that control him. The lives of Anuradha and Nikhil are an epic journey and you will feel like you are shadowing them through life’s various upheavals. The angst and anger in Ashok is such a common sentiment found in young men everywhere who had to grow up in a challenging environment.
This work of fiction is sure to leave you dumbstruck with the genuine characters and emotions that will pierce even the harshest of critics. The narrative is staggeringly beautiful; the scenes themselves are deep and rich. This is one of those books where you will laugh along with the characters, cry with them, be frightened and infuriated together with them.
The book ends in the best way possible, I’m not going to mention it but the final fate of all the four main characters is a perfect summation of the strength and dignity of these characters and their story. This is a gorgeous and beautiful story that has been made accessible to worldwide audiences. I salute the author and the translator.
Never Forget – A review of the novel ‘Heart-Rending Times’I'd love to hear any views on the following. I was recently told the following about Pollyanna by a friend.
"She was a Lady, living in London, with her very prominent Lord husband, who was connected very closely to the crown. He had told her to do nothing, but be a perfect wife to him, but she felt that she would like to help the poor especially those in the East End of London. While he was out the house (mansion) she went below stairs and did some asking around as to the most common names in the East End of London. Among them Pollyanna was one that came to light. She then started to send little gifts to people in need, always signing the card Pollyanna."
"This I was told by my grandmother who was a Cockney, born in the late 1800's and she was told this story by her parents and neighbours who had been helped by the original Pollyanna."
Could it be that this be where Eleanor H Porter got the idea for her 1913 book? Has there been any such suggestion? Or could it be that the book is the source of the story in London?
The original Pollyanna?You are currently viewing our boards as a guest which gives you limited access to view most discussions and access our other features. By joining our free community you will have access to post topics, communicate privately with other members (PM), respond to polls, upload content and access many other special features. Registration is fast, simple and absolutely free so please, join our community today!
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Bottle blonde
