Random Acts of Silliness

There comes a time when you have to let your hair down and invite the laughter in. I find that simply reading forums will give me a smile, or in some cases, a good old hearty "lol". From time to time, you may see some random bits of advice on this blog. In some cases, the posts are so humorous, one can never tell if it was meant to be serious or not. For example:

Vicks? Really? Oh my stars. I've accidentally rubbed Vicks just near my eye and it stung enough to produce tears. For the sake of the questioner, I sincerely hope they do not try this tactic lest they desire burning eyeballs!

The World Is To Much With Us by William Wordsworth

The world is too much with us; late and soon,

Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers:

Little we see in Nature that is ours;

We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!

This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon;

The winds that will be howling at all hours,

And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers;

For this, for everything, we are out of tune,

It moves us not.--Great God! I'd rather be

A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;

So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;

Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;

Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


My take:

            The philosophy behind Wordsworth's poem indicates that man has developed into a materialistic being rather than holding nature as the highest order in the world. He offers the reader two sections: the first, being that the world has become simply an item that man has fashioned at his will, suggesting that "little we see in Nature that is ours". The second section implies that nature is "out of tune", and should be held at a higher standard that what man conveys it to be.

            Wordsworth is deeply moved by such a transition that he implies that he'd "rather be a Pagan suckled in a creed outworn". Wordsworth is essentially suggesting that he'd rather go back to the old nature religion, when man had everything served to him by Nature's bounty. But, having wars in the name of God can only do harm to the earth, causing pollution and death, and ultimately disgracing the accord of Nature. He is implying that he would rather be a Pagan so he can be in touch with Nature, the one thing that provides for us, rather than to live in a world based on hate, money, and immorality.

            Dark times exist today because some foods contain cancer causing agents. Milk contains hormones that are making our children (especially young girls) to develop more rapidly than they should. Indeed, this is very dark. Just like Wordsworth's poem, this coincides with the man VS nature aspect.  Both are battling for dominance, and so far, man is winning. Wordsworth is obviously saddened by this as one could imagine. I know I am.  

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka

Unconditional Love

            Although Gregor Samsa used to be a perfectly normal man, he wakes up one morning only to find that he has evolved into an insect. This horrifying, physical change of his ultimately changes his view of the life he will never live to see. What makes it so bad about his transformation is the fact that he is unable to love his family like he used to. He cannot hug his sister, talk to his over-bearing father, or tell his mother how much he loves her. Even his taste in food and drink has changed. Indeed, he is living in a personal Hell.

            They say love is unconditional. Yet, in Gregor's case, his family does not want to look at him. They forget that he is their family member due to his grotesque features. Even though his mother and sister obviously care about him as they make the effort to feed him and see that he is somewhat comfortable, they are quite stirred by his presence. Gregor can overhear their opinions and sense their feelings toward him. He eventually realizes that things would be better if he dropped dead after eavesdropping on a conversation coming from his callous hearted father. Coincidentally, the next day, he passes away.

            This novella depicts the writer's life so fittingly because Kafka lived in a time where the people of the world were bitter and hateful. Kafka has never mentioned what kind of bug Gregory actually was; but, one can conclude that the truthful image Gregory was portraying was that of his very own image. The solemn melancholy of the insect transformation invaded Gregor's life as it did the same for the writer. The two men felt like they were nothing more than unloved insects, awaiting rejection, which is one of the major downfalls of families everywhere.

Ode on a Grecian Urn by John Keats: Misunderstood Happiness

            The Grecian Urn was actually a Greek vase that symbolized Keats' presumptions of eternal life. During this time, Keats was an ill man during the creation of this poem, which in part, influenced him to create this ode. In the beginning of his speech (and of course, one can rightfully assume that it was indeed Keats giving the speech), the speaker's voice is rather uplifted with a flow of light-hearted emotion as he conversed on. All happiness aside, the nature of the ode was actually a bit melancholic with hints of the supernatural world.

            A loss of life ideal is evident in this reading.  He talks about the urn’s immortality and the pictures on the urn, which happened to be perfectly still (stillness is comparable to death). He realizes that he will never be able to live forever, yet, the urn will. Because of this knowledge, Keats is obviously obsessed with having the ability to become immortal.

            Keats is adamant about not confronting the ultimate fate that he is to pass away very soon. The urn, being a materialistic item, obtains no such realization. It is for this fact that Keats is a tad bit jealous of the urn's privilege to live for eternity as he will not. He points out that like art, nature can never stand still. Thus, the Grecian Urn's beauty will live on as the world will continue to change.

            As the poem stretches on, the tone becomes sadder.  Keats eventually admits that his love will never blossom like nature allows flowers to do. He points out that unlike true love, art is not real. It is for this very reason that this poem is sometimes misunderstood. Keats could take something so horrifically wrong and turn it into the most beautiful flower¾a complete genius.

I found a grim poem that I wrote...

...about 14 years ago, I think. Looking back, I can remember hate consuming every pore of my being. I had never been as hurt as I was back then. Life has moved on, and thankfully, tomorrow is always the promise of a new day.

i  Bad Breakup  i

Stab you

Slice you

Kill you dead

You're such a bigot

In my head

               Always was sitting in your shadow

               Wasps stinging as the throat swallows

               Have to get away from this

               You're an ignorant piece of nothingness

                            You bit my hand when it fed you

                            Now your hand will burn

                            Thrown away this life¾this underground

                            The silence is killing me

                            So why don't you fight?

                                               Sick of your tunnel vision

                                               Sick of your lies

                                               Sick of being your second life

                                                                           I hate what you've done

                                                                           Let us die

An Ode to Gaia: Greek Goddess of the Earth

     Our Mother Earth has been nurturing us for
     many, many years. She feeds us from Her body,
     gives us solid ground for travels, and Her waters
     keep us alive. We are born from Her, and when
     we pass on, we shall become one with Her body again.

She is our Healer, our Joy, and our Fears.
She is the Balance of Life. Our Earth Mother is
the wonderment of all there is and all that will
ever be.

           Gaia is All.



Show that you care this Earth Day 2011 on April 22 by helping our Home in some way. You can visit the official website: www.earthday.org/. There, you can donate or just show your genuine support.
Go Earth!  :)

I can't help but feel so sorry for Madame Bovary.

       For those who have read Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert, then you already know that Emma Bovary was a beautiful woman who constantly lusted for a glamorous life she was never meant to have. In her most cherished stash of possessions, she owned fashion magazines so she could keep up with the latest trends. She felt that she did not belong to the society she married into. In her mind, she lived in a fantasy world that consisted of romance, materialistic riches, and superior status.
       She had a rather difficult time in maintaining happiness throughout her life. Being a woman in an era when men took charge over virtually everything was a challenge. She couldn't exactly go to college and make tons of money after graduation. Her motivation in living a better life could only be won by winning the charms of well-to-do men. It was a tedious task in hiding love interests, while pretending to be a loving wife.
       The closest she ever encountered to living the glamorous life is when she and her husband attended a ball, where she momentarily mingled with noblemen and women. The contrast of peasants who gawked through the large windows reminded her of where she originally came from. This upset her, especially being in the presence of her ordinary and embarrassing husband, Charles Bovary. When normal people moved on with their lives, Emma continued to obsess over that memorable night. But what really constitutes as normal? I doubt anyone knows the answer to that question.
       It is no secret that most everyone on this planet desires a fulfilled life. While most people climb up the ladder of success or importance in order to achieve greatness, some people do not know when to stop climbing. When this happens, people fall. Poor Emma Bovary tried to climb so high, but she could not even manage to get to the top. I find that such longing for a comfortable life hasn't really changed much throughout the years. We are all destined for greatness... it's a matter of how we get there, I suppose.

Brain Farts in Writing

I’ve been working on a ghost novel since December 2009. As I am a ridiculously slow writer, I have only managed to spit out three chapters. The story that lurks inside my mind permeates every cell behind my skull; yet, I cannot seem to allow these words to escape onto the white pages in front of my fountain pen.

Today I wrote an amazing sentence that contained a mere five words. It was all I could manage to muster.

I realized shortly thereafter, that when I am unable to search for the words that I intend to write, sometimes the words eventually find their way to me—even when they arrive with minimal luggage.