And the Curtains Close

I cannot say that I enjoyed blogging. I prefer more traditional approaches to teaching and blogging sure isn't one of them. Blogging differs from writing in a notebook in many ways. Some of which being:

1. Blogs are harder to access because not everybody has the time to come in during Zero Period, not everybody has a computer and because not everybody has consistent internet connections.

2. Blogs make one's work much, much more dispensable. My blog is a blog amongst thousands of other students' blogs. All of these blogs can be deleted with the click of mouse. I'm confident that I'll forget about my blog and the blogs of many others in due time. There is something special about writing an entry in *my* notebook with *my* pen. Destroying my work becomes a physical act whereas the deletion of my last week's post was done nonchalantly while watching anime and browsing reddit.

3. When on the internet, people become much more lenient in regard to spelling and grammar (particularly capitalization and apostrophes).

4. I only like reading the work of young teenagers when it's well-written or when I'm editing it heavily. Both of these things were rather rare.

5. While I like the idea of commenting on the work of others' (heh... secret editing), I was disappointed in the comments that were made. Basically, due to #1, people often felt rushed while writing/replying to blogs which led to #3 and #5.

I highly doubt that I'll continue my blog. I think that blogs ought to be reserved for people who are abnormally average or are curiously unique or exciting. I don't feel that I do anything in life worth blogging about. My reading life is not particularly special and I'd rather not share my thoughts with the public.
This blog did reinforce my opinion that non-fiction should be read for facts and if you're looking for metaphors you ought to go read some metaphysical hogwash.
But, one thing that I really, really disliked about blogging was the lack of privacy. I like to read things (this goes from the poems that people write as shameless children to memoirs from 6th grade) in order to find out everything about people. I often sit quietly and listen intensely to conversations; picking up every ounce of personal information dropped. I don't care to gossip and I despise drama so I save up all of these bits of information for the sake of my amusement. While I like doing this to others I don't like it when anybody else knows anything potentially worth knowing about me. Blogs are too public for my liking. I don't want people to know my name, my thoughts, the school that I go to or the class that I'm in. This is probably because I'm paranoid but it's mostly because I don't like giving people the opportunity to start conversions with me.

I'm sorry if this post of particularly cynical. And, Ms. Rear, if you're looking for positive feedback I will say this-- be sure to be strict about grammar, spelling and punctuation in regard to the blogs.

And, with that, I bid AwaketheGomer farewell.

Logicomix

     Gödel's Theorem abolished what would've been the climatic ending to this graphic novel. I read each page and verified my understanding of all of the philosophies and theories that were proposed in my notebook. Doing this intensified my craving for what Russell had been looking for: a completely solid foundation made of logic that's capable of carrying the weight of math and of human conflict. I had soon made variables of my own and wished to farther my thinking with the use of my pen. Russell had a cruel lust for knowledge and for absolute truth; a void that could be filled with only the most concrete things- logic and math.
      Gödel's Theorem states that there will always be unanswerable questions. In relation to the beliefs of Ludwig Wittgenstein- a logician who believed that not all things could be spoken about logically, such as things that cannot be fathomed (the universe, infinity). Because one cannot form a picture of the unfathomable, then we cannot make claims upon what can't be imagined [please correct me if I did not properly convey his philosophy]-  Gödel's Theorem does not completely deny what Wittgenstein believed in. But, in that case of Bertrand Russell, a life's work had been obliterated. Russell longed for a complete understanding which Gödel had denied the existence of.
     Being a man of reason, Russell did not futilely resist. It's odd how one man can disprove what we as mankind have been looking for for a ridiculously long time. At the beginning of the book, mathematicians sneered at Russell's wish to perfectly combine logic and math, the mathematicians continued what, generally, they've been notorious for for many years; an air of stubbornness and superiority. I do not blame the mathematicians though, they're feelings are equal to that of  most people- upon finally finding solid grounds to stand upon, people refuse to or reluctantly move to potentially shaky ground. Many resist revisions in math and science because those are meant to be things that were already completely reliable.  
     The quest of Bertrand Russell embodies the human struggle of finding reason and ethics, logic and math. Humans are curious beings. We search for the answers to our pondering and are not satisfied until an adequate solution if reached. But what if the solution is the fact that there is no solution? Sounds like a Russell's Paradox to me!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russel%27s_paradox

 

Cosmicomics- Calvino

     A few dozen words into the first chapter, I became rather conflicted. The story that I was reading (which is wonderfully written by the way) is about a town of people who, when the moon draws near, hoist up a ladder and collect milk and cheese from the moon's surface. While I wasn't being distracted by the descriptive and eloquent phrases that I was reading, the left side of my brain was going haywire. What about Roche's Limit? The Tidal Effect? Potential collision? Gravity? Moondust? Light? Atmosphere? Temperature?....But, mostly, I was worried about Roche's Limit... 

     The short story defied all that I had respected in our solar system! In the scientific laws! Calvino's lack of the latter left me wounded and surprisingly hurt... But, I must admit, Calvino won me over. While discussing the book with my Pa, he pointed out that Comicomics was not a piece of science-fiction but that rather, it was a work of fantasy.

     For those of you who have not read my post on Invisible Cities (another work by Calvino), Calvino is the master of managing to describe a fictional world with such precision that it seems real in way. The mental image of the moon radiating a drained white light and casting thick shades onto and off of quite homes made the whole of my brain feel peaceful and somewhat serene. Beauty overtook my obsession with science and created a blissful sort of harmony- an exact mixture that's hard for humans to express and affectively create.

     In my opinion, beauty is born out of science (as all things are) but thinking about that flipped around creates an uncomfortable mental glitch... Calvino discarded science in order to create his story but he did not do so out of disrespect but in order to create a perspective that science does not necessarily allow. 

The Kingdom of this World- Carpentier

    This book follows the life of a Haitian slave who lives to see the Haitian slave revolt and lives to see many imprisoned once more. As a small handful of you may know, I loathe retells. So, I highly suggest that you click this link: http://www.travelinghaiti.com/history_of_haiti/slave_rebellion.asp. Only, this sight does not tell the story of The Kingdom of this World; the story of voodoo and slaves being ripped apart by crazed dogs. Nor does it mention the make-shift shelter of Ti Noel, our fictional companion throughout the book. Nor does 'travelinghaiti' depict the image of Haiti's first black king sinking into a pool of mortar by the hand of a priest and under the eye of a wife.
     I don't usually like books that involve slavery for two main reasons: firstly, I don't like historical fiction... unless it's The Picture of Dorian Gray. Secondly, books about slavery tend to have a strong 'black pride' streak. And, I'm not a black pride admirer. Actually, I don't like it when anybody takes too much pride in their race. It creates a vial mixture social Darwinism, arrogance, and an over-abundance of pride. Well, maybe I'll go into that more in a later post. There are though, of course, exceptions. I enjoyed the The Classic Slave Narratives for instance. But, either way, this book was a pleasing.
     The way in which it's written is extremely unique and I've never seen a style quite like it before. The sentences  nearly always contain at least 2 commas. And, while the end of the sentence may be seemingly odd in comparison to the start of the sentence. Carpenteir created multiple mental pictures and moods by wielding a single sentence. The book had a vague feeling to it, but I felt as though I could look back at earlier events and recall them as I would memory of my own. There a extremely vivid moments amid a rush of commotion or thought. Which, really, as an amazing feeling for an author to be able to craft for a reader.
     My dad has a very smart, well-read friend who has a witty and well-read wife. The two of them suggest and lend books to me so I have to pay tribute to them for helping me find an enjoyable piece of literature.

Either way, I miss the cosmos so be prepared for a non-fiction post next week.

Subarashii Sekai-

     I have been motivated to not do anything at all. Therefore, I will not create a legitimate blog post. Perhaps I'll take a nap.

*sigh*

     It seems that I'm not able to overlook my obligations towards the betterment of my education.

     For those of you who do not know, I adore manga. I get home, I game, I read manga, I game, I read manga... so on and so forth. But, I discovered a new series that seems to have been made out of condensed talent and artistic ability... oh, wait... did I just say 'seems'? Well, I meant to say that it's goddamn genius.

     I've been following a manga call Oyasumi Punpun for many a month. My favorite manga site, mangafox, has a feature that allows you to view other works by the same mangaka. I took advantage of this wonderful tool and managed to find something even more beautiful than Oyasumi Punpun, I found Subarashii Sekai  (What a Wonderful World). It was magnificently depressing and, due to my being a pessimist, the optimistic notes passed right over my head. Heh. Stupid optimism.
     I suppose that I've built up an immunity of sorts to depressive bouts, so it did not take long for my despair and loss of faith in not only humanity but also in myself to magically transform into being tired of having to care about things that I felt I did not necessarily have to exert an effort towards (thus explaining the first two sentences of this post). For years now, I've been hoping to fall asleep or to fast forward a good 10 years, skipping over my seemingly unnecessary adolescence. I've had the same level of maturity since I've been 5. I do not need 19 extra years of practice. Hahahaha. Now I shall leave and pet my soft cat, who, I'm sure, had the honor of slaughtering pups in her last life. Only my cat hates me.... I guess I'll just have to clone her over and over again until she acquires a more suitable personality.

*poof!* blog post complete!

My Fictitious loves

     Firstly, I am the only one allowed to refer to them in this manner. I am much more than willing to glare, shout, cover my ears, eyes and refuse to speak to whomever is bold enough to deny their existences. While I've my growing array of companions and mentors that I myself create and admire, there are others; the originals to some extent.
     I have been mourning over the death of my dearest, dearest L for around 3 years. The death of lovely Dorian was also a bit of shock to me. But, L has always had a special place in my heart.
     I'm not sure if it's normal to not feel ashamed while admitting my love for characters from mangas, books, my imagination. They just manage to reach a point of perfection that no human can ever acquire. My wounds were slowly healing. I was eventually able to think about L without having tears well in my eyes. The degree of my denial started to decrease. But then, I saw a treasure peacefully resting upon Mr. Gordon's desk. Death Note: volume 1. Upon asking to take it home, permission was granted and my wounds were pried open once more. For months last year, I tried to find out the mangaka's address in order to send her a hate note, or anything that would be able to convey the amount of pain that she forced me to endure by killing L. And, as of yesterday, I found myself having to fight that urge. To try to conquer my love.
     I've always had a bit of an imagination. Though my daydreaming has become much more intensified over the past few years, it's always found ways to weasel its way into my life, creating some sort of social boundary for me. I used to have an imaginary friend, who's name I cannot remember. She left me. She said that she was going on a trip to Paris and she never came back. I wanted her to, but some part of brain was screaming, 'NO! She's not coming back! Stop lying to yourself!'. It is that voice that taunts me daily, 'He's dead, stop pretending that your L will be revived', 'Dorian Grey was asking for it...'.
     So, of course, I fight back. I imagine even more and drown my rationality in my disregard for reality. Currently, L is happily living in Russia. He enjoys his quite and wintry surroundings and often sits by a fogged window, sipping sweet tea and eating strawberry shortcake, gazing out his window and into the large clouds above. L is happy, and at piece. Dorian never tried to destroy the painting. He bought a nice house in London with easy access to the theater. He's living alone but often visits Basil (whom he never truly killed) secretly in the night. Indulging himself in the relationship that Wilde was not allowed to let them have. My cat roams the school building. Elegantly hopping in the desk, purring. Within a moment, the room will be silent and empty, calming me down. Or, maybe, I've turned everybody in the unsettling and loud classroom into variables or cats or animate sheets of paper.
     Combating rationality with imagination is fun, though not in the least bit socially beneficial. But if I have Emmie and my other, fictional friends, then who cares? If I end up being social inept, then I'll just become a computer programmer. Which is convenient for I love computers as much as I do cats.

I apologize for the extremely low quality of this post.

The Scarlet Letter- Beta

The Scarlet Letter

     A women who lives in a Puritan village commits one of the most frowned upon sins; adultery. Having been pitied, Hester's life was spared, instead, she was made to wear an embroidered A on her dress. To do so, she used scarlet threads and branded herself with a beautiful A which reflected the evening sun when she was first released from her prison cell.
     I use the word branded intentionally, Hester will live her life with the townsfolk glaring at the medal of her sin. When she dies, her tombstone will be engraved with the letter she bore for nearly all of her life. It's spectacular, seeing the way that Hester was so quickly isolated from the community that she'd once been apart of. Though she sews clothing for those around her, they do not meet her eyes. It seems that they're only able to stare at the A on Hester's bosom. Walking to market, Hester's chest is singed with each disapproving glare. Her cheeks are made red by the way her customers freely make it known that they're disgusted by how unfaithful she'd been to her husband (who, by the way, hasn't been around Hester for years).

     Hester endures this punishment with pride. The cloth covering her hair and the scarlet letter became ritual for her, a sort of misery and banishment that she grew accustomed to. She lives her life silently. I often imagine her striding through the town square, looking ahead into nothingness, her feet barely grazing the ground. I see her looking downwards, slightly, feeling unworthy of letting her eyes roam from the trodden on dirt below her. It seems that Hester realized that her life was just one to be sneered at. I don't think that Hester wished for death, but perhaps she wouldn't care if she hadn't been born, perhaps she would be too distanced from reality to acknowledge her own passing.   
     Logically, Hester secludes herself in a desolate abandoned cottage, rarely leaving, rarely speaking, friendless but spared of the townsfolk' resentment towards her. Who would do differently? Of course though, there always be those who claim to 'thrive on social interactions' and 'will die if they've only themselves for company!'. And, of course, there are the folks who shun social isolation. Why? I do not know. Many claim that it is unhealthy, but to leave your cottage only to be shunned is better than mental peace? To only stare at dirt paths and be gawked at, as if she were an animal in a cage? 
     Personally, I like to spend my entire weekends inside, ignoring emails, and with my cellphone's battery left uncharged. Being alone is nice. It's not as though that if I were to leave my fort, I'd be bombarded with words of hate and disapproval, but why spend time with humans when I can daydream about more ideal things... more intriguing people, quieter places, massive, burnt forests, silk ballroom gowns, empty mansions overlooking a lonely plain, visited only by scorched, sacred trees? Where's that sort of appeal to be found in reality? Why waste time roaming congested city streets? Why go outside to only be welcomed by the same monotonous buildings and songs and chairs? I truly do not see the point in all of it, I've already created a much more interesting world of my own. 

     There are differences between Hester and I. I do not think that Hester daydreamed in her cottage, I'm quite sure that her thoughts continued to dwell in reality. Hester willingly accepted the consequences for what she'd done, she never let herself stray from her punishment, not even while secluded in her house. This leads to yet another difference, I'm not able to accept reality, it's much too displeasing. It's boring and empty. I'm most likely facing the consequences of some sort of action, but for what was I punished? Why have I been, for so long, unable to accept this world?  

Link: http://awakethegomer.blogspot.com/2011/02/scarlet-letter.html#comments