train crash.
How do bestsellers come about? A book that hooks the imagination or the herd mentality? Or a potent mixture of both?
This afternoon I glimpsed a Northlight School girl and her tiny sister trudging across the road with the green light blazing. No car in sight, but still. Would she be holding her hand in Death?
I fear breaking rules when crossing the road, the notion of people touching my hands.
One cannot help but worry for the youth of this age. But myself, I am still a young one too. Sure, I have been told there are many out there apart from God who love(d) and look(ed) out for me, but who can tell? Who sees this? Who knows this? Or rather, who does it all, and is living and breathing with their air transiting through their lungs like mine? I, for one, the topic at hand and the one in the middle of it all, do not. (The brackets, an explanatory note for them which are perhaps a reflection, a smudge of doubt on this pretty picture of love and happiness and light.)
Arguments with Mother are equal parts rewarding, enticing, asseverating. Invigorating - I like to think of them as a wake up call, the crack in the sky on the portrait she has painted for herself. Our little clashes manifest themselves as part mockery, part reason. The rare performance of my assertiveness. Her emotions in full disarray, her 'how could you speak of things in that manner' look that keeps me going, like a hunter whose arrow is wedged in a spot that leaves its prey vulnerable, exposed, appalled. The hunter who recognises that it is thus. It is always about religion, matters of belief, principalities. My habit of jabbing at her firmest sentiments, questioning, at times tearing them up. I do not think it is because of Nietzsche, though I have the inkling of a relic of his forced down my throat a few months ago while I skimmed through Ecce Homo. He is a little annoying, not to mention idealistic.
Little children shouldn't be allowed near controversial speakers. What? They've yet to cement their own foundations and read their maps and we are going all out toss them off board and rock their boat?
Politics here is all too polarised for my taste. The Straits Times is...all right, though the complaints of the minor (let us face it) political parties could be justified; while the online boards and forums see death and the fault of our government in almost every thing with most posters giving little to no information to justify their choice. Perhaps I am new to this 'let us make up your mind' because I have been bred with the perspective that having no opinions of one's own is the most feasible predicament. All I can say, if I am permitted with my tunnel vision to make a stand, is that we are cruising along, and most (if not all) things are fine. To be honest I am blown at some things we citizens commit to; it is as if we are bereft of a discerning mind.
Too many books at home lying unread. More books borrowed each day.
Goodreads works like a tapestry of life - it is a untruth that no one judges a person by the books one sits down to read, not to mention the ones we skim. I am fond of going down the list - what I have read, and wanting to read. The former is a mark of my dedication and perhaps my permanent fancies. In the latter I decipher the waves of influence/issues of interest which have interrupted my living, e.g. under 'to read' -
2010
2011
I found Jim Morey and he's brilliant.
This afternoon I glimpsed a Northlight School girl and her tiny sister trudging across the road with the green light blazing. No car in sight, but still. Would she be holding her hand in Death?
I fear breaking rules when crossing the road, the notion of people touching my hands.
One cannot help but worry for the youth of this age. But myself, I am still a young one too. Sure, I have been told there are many out there apart from God who love(d) and look(ed) out for me, but who can tell? Who sees this? Who knows this? Or rather, who does it all, and is living and breathing with their air transiting through their lungs like mine? I, for one, the topic at hand and the one in the middle of it all, do not. (The brackets, an explanatory note for them which are perhaps a reflection, a smudge of doubt on this pretty picture of love and happiness and light.)
Arguments with Mother are equal parts rewarding, enticing, asseverating. Invigorating - I like to think of them as a wake up call, the crack in the sky on the portrait she has painted for herself. Our little clashes manifest themselves as part mockery, part reason. The rare performance of my assertiveness. Her emotions in full disarray, her 'how could you speak of things in that manner' look that keeps me going, like a hunter whose arrow is wedged in a spot that leaves its prey vulnerable, exposed, appalled. The hunter who recognises that it is thus. It is always about religion, matters of belief, principalities. My habit of jabbing at her firmest sentiments, questioning, at times tearing them up. I do not think it is because of Nietzsche, though I have the inkling of a relic of his forced down my throat a few months ago while I skimmed through Ecce Homo. He is a little annoying, not to mention idealistic.
Little children shouldn't be allowed near controversial speakers. What? They've yet to cement their own foundations and read their maps and we are going all out toss them off board and rock their boat?
Politics here is all too polarised for my taste. The Straits Times is...all right, though the complaints of the minor (let us face it) political parties could be justified; while the online boards and forums see death and the fault of our government in almost every thing with most posters giving little to no information to justify their choice. Perhaps I am new to this 'let us make up your mind' because I have been bred with the perspective that having no opinions of one's own is the most feasible predicament. All I can say, if I am permitted with my tunnel vision to make a stand, is that we are cruising along, and most (if not all) things are fine. To be honest I am blown at some things we citizens commit to; it is as if we are bereft of a discerning mind.
Too many books at home lying unread. More books borrowed each day.
Goodreads works like a tapestry of life - it is a untruth that no one judges a person by the books one sits down to read, not to mention the ones we skim. I am fond of going down the list - what I have read, and wanting to read. The former is a mark of my dedication and perhaps my permanent fancies. In the latter I decipher the waves of influence/issues of interest which have interrupted my living, e.g. under 'to read' -
2010
- Nazis, war. Bloodletting. The joy of finding a cosy place called History lessons.
- Burma Chronicles. Ms Suu Kyi's Freedom From Fear
- Who Are We? (Gary Younge); Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations
- Desiring the Dead: Necrophilia and French Literature (Lisa Downing)
2011
- The Moth Diaries; The Work of Edward Gorey
- Much of Agatha Christie's Marple
- Blake Butler's Scorch Atlas
- Camus' The Fall
I found Jim Morey and he's brilliant.