The Insufferable Friend

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Sun, 19 May 2013 22:28:39 -0400

New arrivals

Sun, 19 May 2013 22:28:02 -0400

New arrivals

I just thought it...I like boring

Sat, 18 May 2013 23:19:00 -0400

I’m re-reading my ‘Les Aventures de Tintin’ comic albums, and I’ve always found myself in the minority when I say that there is nothing baffling or ambiguous about Tintin. As a character, he has a definite moral compass; he just lacks the subtlety or substance when it comes to making a character feel realistic. He becomes bland, then. He’s almost flawless, be it in the field of intellect, skill, or virtue. I can only numerate one for what makes him, disputably, somewhat relatable, and this would be his inquisitiveness; thus, him getting into troublesome situations (for instance: the villains getting the upper-hand at first, with him getting shot on the head plenty of times. I think, this can only mean a lighthearted mockery, to give the audience suspense, and a balanced effect against circumstances revolving around our hero - in amiable terms, to make him look bad and less the mary stu that he arguably is), but then again, he’s often saved by some stroke of luck, and many times, the odds are in his favor. I grew to love Tintin for being the hero figure with a bounded set of ethic and principles. There’s nothing uncertain about him, and you feel secure. Besides, who would really settle for some reckless and imprudent chief hero? Sure, they may get you into all sorts of thrills and adventures, but they could lead you to a premature death for all we care. It’s awfully refreshing to have order and caution in the midst of a tremulous world. Almost all his adventures deal with realistic issues, but he will prevail over the villains in the end - make no mistake about it. That’s what I love about him and the series the most. A sort of escapism of the moral dilemma in a real-life locality - just too good to be true in our lives. At least, that’s how it feels to me. And of course, that he is a genuine character for children: the role model, no doubt, that can help shape their early outlook in life. Also, for the entertainment and adventure.

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Sat, 18 May 2013 19:18:52 -0400

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Sat, 18 May 2013 19:15:36 -0400

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Sat, 18 May 2013 19:08:35 -0400

I can understand Tintin triumphing over the villains’...

Sat, 18 May 2013 17:25:50 -0400

I can understand Tintin triumphing over the villains’ scheme but, why in the world is he smiling like that? I’d be flustered and angry for all I care

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Sat, 18 May 2013 17:08:48 -0400

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Sat, 18 May 2013 02:42:28 -0400

Hyde is not real

Fri, 17 May 2013 19:39:00 -0400

How can Jekyll & Hyde be about good versus evil, when Jekyll is uncertainly good and Hyde uncertainly evil (the guise of the animalistic prominence feels a hoax). Moreover, of course they aren’t two persons; they are dual personalities of the same person. I’m both unscientific and ill-poetic; however, I can’t simply adhere to the philosophy of many, especially, which is the core of the moral story. I personally think that Jekyll is just a mad man, ashamed of his faults, so as he despicably “[conceals] his pleasures and [stands] already committed to a profound duplicity of life.” He doesn’t stop here, but “[regards] them with an almost morbid sense of shame.” importantly, that it is “rather the exacting nature of [his] aspirations than any particular degradation in [his] faults that made [him] what he [is]…” this recites an only indecorous confession of his veridical nature: that shame of which his guilt is curtly invested on is not out of an authenticity for alteration, but to submerge conscience, living a double life. Hyde is the shady characteristic provided none alien to Jekyll. It is a person from the same man, only with depraved shame toward pleasurable acts Jekyll himself admitted. Given his account, he’s not suspended from cognition of his original self and vise-versa, merely indifferent to the other: Hyde is barely a disguise to mask his notoriety. It’s not a horror story, either; it’s an experiment gone wrong. I’ve read worse. But it’s definitely gothic in all artistic proportions. I just don’t get how this is a study between good versus evil. And even if it were good AND evil, I can’t see that far, as for our Dr. Jekyll being uncertainly either of the two.

"The thoughts of his mind, besides, were of the gloomiest dye…"

Fri, 17 May 2013 15:30:37 -0400

“The thoughts of his mind, besides, were of the gloomiest dye…”

- The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (26-27)

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Fri, 17 May 2013 04:38:20 -0400

A contingency plan

Fri, 17 May 2013 04:14:53 -0400

A contingency plan

Curtain fall

Thu, 16 May 2013 19:29:00 -0400

Vanity, curiosity, and hypocrisy. Are all what gave him to his own purpose. It is only a mask for him, in denying himself of his acceptance to his veridical nature. The last act is his retaliation to this, in final moments, perhaps, to give way to his hopelessness and to escape from the tragedy of his vain assets. To stab the painting, the mirror of his soul is a stroke of vanity, but could be acceptance to one’s fate as well. To destroy the corruption staying there is the initiative, but whether for what genuine reasons is Dorian Gray’s living ruin. However, the message is unaltered: The painting is restored to its original state, with the youthful and purity of beauty it once possessed, and the person being Dorian Gray is wrinkled, sickly, and ugly. Quintessentially, it is but a trial and the last moments are his movement of confession at last. In an idyllic sense, it could have been a climactic endeavor to save him from what would be his future: implacable, debauched with a depraved indifference to solemnity and conduct. He will entirely give himself away to evil. Dorian Gray got what he truly wanted in the end: his beauty back, and so much more. His life is never to be spoiled again by iniquities and failures. His sins are redressed. Or maybe not. But Wilde was a master storyteller. I loved the irony in this.

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Thu, 16 May 2013 02:50:35 -0400

Wilde was a Master Storyteller.

Wed, 15 May 2013 19:09:10 -0400

Wilde was a Master Storyteller.

"Dorian is a monster. Oh, poor monster he has become!"

Wed, 15 May 2013 18:54:34 -0400

“Dorian is a monster. Oh, poor monster he has become!”

I give up. You have my consent and favor

Wed, 15 May 2013 18:31:05 -0400

I am trapped. There is no way out. There is no turning back. Time has swept the chances beyond my reach. Now, I am here, and you, the only path known to me. My mind opens to you. I have given to you my soul long ago. I am still drilled with your spell. It is over now. I am gone. I leave myself at loss, forever. Take me now, it is my end, a tragedy I long waited for, of infinite pathos. A ruined beauty. A fallen grace. It is over now.

It's not a question of good or evil

Wed, 15 May 2013 01:52:00 -0400

It’s all about the experience, and to learn what to live in that moment: to indulge the senses in the provocation of the unknown. People have so often denounced the kinship with the senses, for what, Fear and unfamiliarity. But led lukewarm lives, under an umbrella of fixed principles and sensitivity to the obscure. And what, they have become dull and unintelligent; starving, sadly, to a dry fruit, squeezed out of its delicacy. And they grow old with knowing so little and finding through a repetitive cycle of rubble of passions. But what of the world so feared? To wake up at death’s doorstep and snatch its remembrances. It’s so feared for its guise alien to the senses, but to reform and hone the intellect by experience, to these influences, is a calling and a gift of Nature herself. It is presented to be known, to be acknowledged and used to our molding hands. What of the consequences, they are the apparition of narrow-mindedness. To be confined in a circle with common doctrines, to be limited to a work which was once thoroughly studied; leave the beyond in the cold mystery. It is to abandon the ugly and artful exploitation of one’s inherent emotions, and to have newly sought at loss forever.

What are you so afraid of?

Disclaimer: Photo does not belong to me. File source: http://commons.wikimedia.org, File:Edgar...

Tue, 14 May 2013 01:52:00 -0400

Disclaimer: Photo does not belong to me. File source: http://commons.wikimedia.org, File:Edgar Allen Poe 1898.jpg; American Bookmen, published by Dodd, Mead and Co, NY, 1898

This dictates the nature of Poe in the eyes of a casual and unpromising reader; though, she wished in her heart of hearts to have done his soul the justice it deserves, she is reluctant, and cautious not to overdo it. Please, forgive me!

~~Death~~

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.” (Edgar Allan Poe)

Window. In the pitch blackness there was a window and all was silent. In the study of Edgar Allan Poe, there was a gap in the wall. It was little, and then it grew wide until it swallowed the void and air inside into its hollow quarters, or at least, as seen in Poe’s mind. At the tender age of 3, Poe watched his mother die in her bed, and all his beloved that came after were ensnared by death also. In those intervals of his life, the light was erratic: some days it was bright and blazed like a warm sun, at times it shone pale like a cold star, and in a flicker of a moment it was dim until it stole completely from sight. Death was a curse and gift to him, and it influenced him gravely.

Window, as the arch of the life of light that glowed in a corner of his mind. As death came, the window will open to greet him, but in darkness. It will shut as soon as it had done its purpose, a torment to Poe’s mind. It fed off his grief and dug away, like a broad tunnel, until it was deep enough for him to bury his two eyes. But even then he could not see anything. It remained dark and spacious, like a casket for his dreams. He kept it locked, as much as he could; he was curious but more afraid what he would find there. But for death came, it blew open, and the lock was broken, and it sucked his happiness in like a vacuum, then it would finally finish and all was quiet again. But it was never shut. Poe kept it veiled, to serve as the border from his reality, but the caution was gone, and all that left with him his curiosity and fear – fear for the force that was restless with him, and the many times it seemed to him he was orphaned of his beloved by its hands. Soon, Poe was mystified about the force that dwelled there. He would lift the cover and snatch remembrances, which later, cultivated into a revelation and inspiration for his literary works.

~~Addiction~~

“That which you mistake for madness is but an overacuteness of the senses.” (Edgar Allan Poe)

Web (Spider’s web). Poe’s life was a weave of misfortunes, calamity, vexation, and even mystery. In a lifetime of a companion of loneliness, he was utterly compelled to indulge into the folly of stimulants. His bereaved mind and soul desperately attempted to escape the persecution of his thoughts that was plaguing him of his sanity. Although it was for pain and suffering, it had seduced his mind to seclusion, false comfort and consolation. He was entangled to a series of grief, contempt, and reproach. But Poe’s life wasn’t subjected wholly to a pitfall of despair – not yet. His mind was a craft of flair, influenced by the dark forces of the soul. He had reached the dreadful web, but he wasn’t imprisoned from escape. Even then, there was still a bright speck, somewhere in Poe’s recollection that would bring him back to consciousness. However, it was a toxin, which estranged his healing and gave him a sense of peril coming to take him. It liquefied his reason and sharpened the foreboding sense of doom.

~~Evil Men~~

“There are moments when even to the sober eye of reason, the world of our sad humanity may assume the semblance of Hell.” (Edgar Allan Poe)

Mirror. A highlight of Poe’s distraught youth was the turbulent relationship he had with his foster father, John Allan. It was one of his hopes, to have a family and a home forever: to shelter and protect his broken heart, and rid him of the loss. He found this under the wing of his foster mother, Frances Allan; however, her husband John, was last to feel a fondness for the boy. He never considered Poe as his own son, and held a high degree of indignation toward him. Poe might have sought a solution to this, but when John’s infidelity became apparent, the experience became an estranged and bitter one. In Poe’s eyes and mind, it was confirmed: John evolved to a model of a fallen man, and his vision of parental bond reduced to a fantasy.

Poe’s rivalry with his foster father was alike to a cracked mirror. It progressed with just more resentment until it became shattered. He may have deserted the memory of John, but the shadow did not fall out of his heart. John had branded him with a hateful impression toward the common man. Though it would seem merciless and childish of Poe to hold on to the impression of John, how it affected his view of men, and Poe as a man himself, reflected within a solid mirror. In a mirror, it can’t simply be a reflection. A character would often envision his life, desires, fears, and his true self. In Poe’s case, it wasn’t explicitly said that he was becoming like John, or that he feared to become like John; he would have abhorred the idea; he would have expressed strong rejection. However, there was no certainty as well, if anything, even little did not completely rid him of doubt. Who knew what Poe exactly saw in a mirror? Dark and red pools and a thick black shadow stretching over the whole image, until his reflection was wallowed. And what would that mean to him? Another ominous sign predicting his impending doom once again. Though it would mean something more delicate and grave, he’d be the very person he hated; he’d be no less like John Allan, a fallen man.