I am such a geek.
Finals are in 3 days yet instead of studying for them as I rightfully should be, I stayed up till 5am last night reading Jonathan Kellerman’s Therapy. It’s been ages since I read something so gripping. The last book I remember reading that’s managed to pigue my interest so would be James Neal Harvey’s Mental Case. Even that was way back in ’05 if I’m not mistaken lol. My latest fare into the works of Jodi Picoult is somewhat disappointing, I’m sad to say. She’s a great writer and all, but her stuff just don’t fascinate me as much as those of, say, William Golding or Martina Cole’s.
Shut up, Yuh Ting – Yes, I actually enjoyed Lord of the Flies, even more so now that we don’t have to write bloody long essays about it for Literature class XD (Pray Deepak doesn’t read this hahaha)
So, what led me to indulging in crime-thriller fiction instead of studying Business Principles on a school night yesterday was a stupid dumb poem I was trying to write. Needless to say, it sucked so bad I lost my temper and consequently tore it up to shreds =D To comfort myself, I then picked the book up and told myself I’ll read just two chapters tonight, which quite clearly was a resolution I failed to stick to.
I really have no idea what’s gotten into me nowadays. I’ve lost all sense of priority. I’m skipping classes because I can’t wake up in time for it. That, in turn is the result of me staying up too late the night before, either trying to write something that doesn’t suck eggs or rereading Oscar Wilde’s Picture of Dorian Gray. I think it’s the third time I’m reading it now yet the words still do not fail to captivate me. Jo, I promise I’ll return it soon but at this point I’m still not done with it =D I swear I’ll get myself a copy for Christmas or something!
It continues to amaze me the power and influence mere words can have over me. I think the reason why I loved Picture of Dorian Gray so much was because of Wilde’s ability to lay in front of you life’s crudest and harshest truths in a way that is just the complete opposite; so antagonistically plain and pure.
“I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself.”
“He covered page after page with wild words of sorrow and wilder words of pain. There is a luxury in self-reproach. When we blame ourselves, we feel that no one else has a right to blame us. It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution.”
“Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one’s mistakes.”
Tell me, when is it will it be before the time comes that I’ll be able to write something like that?
Another man I’m absolutely in love with would be Edgar Allen Poe. I remember the awe he held over me when I picked one of his books up for the first time as a little girl. The absolution of knowing you’ve fallen in love – truly fall in love – with something you know is going to be a part of you for the rest of your life is, for lack of a better word, breath-taking.
To prove my point and the fact that I’m not just some crazy psycho bitch ass whore obsessed with writers who have died some hundreds of years ago:
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov’d — I lov’d alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold —
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by —
From the thunder, and the storm —
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view —
-“Alone”, Edgar Allen Poe.
Tell me you didn’t feel even the slightest quiver as those words pull at the strings of your conscience to liberate this insane wave of emotion within you that you’ve never known was there. Tell me, those words had meant nothing to you. I dare you to.
To quote Christopher Morley (taken from Yuh Ting’s blog):
“When you sell a man a book,
you don’t sell him 12 ounces ofpaper and ink and glue
-you sell him a whole new life.”
I think I’ve just fallen in love all over again XD