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.