Little End Room

Last week I had a conversation with a friend about poems and influences and all that jazz. Anyways, I ended up going through some old stuff I had written back in sixth form. I'd forgotten how much stuff I actually got down to writing, from poems to essays to streams of consciousness. It's amusing to see a more teen angsty take on many things, but it reminded me how much you can do if you put your mind to it. Here's one of the entries; it was written in October of 2005.


Blue. It was all blue. The aching, the uneasiness, the loneliness, and worst of all, the fear. All gone, somewhere far away. She was beside herself, no longer part of this world, no longer wearing the shackles that tied her down every moment of every day. Even so, the marks were there, scars from the cycle, remnants that hope is a distant memory. It was all gone, it was all blue.
The dust was dry and cool beneath her feet, and as the fields rustled in the breeze, a golden shimmer of corn shifting lazily, a few solitary rays of dim light shone through the cover overhead. It was overcast, the sky beyond the clouds not showing at all, and everything adopted that dark blue tinge as things do before heavy rainfall. Everything was still, nothing except for the persistent but gentle breeze and the girl’s soft breathing could be heard. You couldn’t really see anything in front of her, the path continued over the small hill and all around were fields. They seemed endless.
She stood there, alone in the clean, light air. Her arms crossed at the waist, she let out a gentle sigh which resounded among the entire area into eternity. It was warm, not the type of warm that comes from a sunny day, the kind that comes when everything is calm, the warm before the war, the warm after the end, the warm of that special person’s embrace. How long had she been here? She didn’t know. Time didn’t really apply here.
They say people envision things in their minds, a place they go to when things get too much to bear, a place where they feel safe. Sometimes a person needs somewhere where they can be alone, somewhere where everything is an extension of themselves. Was she alone? No. He was here. He was always here, and the reason she comes here is to feel his presence. He was the only thing that could take her burden, that would carry her through, he was what gave her life. And in this place, this precious haven, he was everywhere, the whisper in the air, the falling leaf, the smallest stone.
She let out another soft sigh and rubbed her sore wrists, the skin on her cheeks wrinkling into the faintest smile. She didn’t want to go back, it was hard back, and here she was truly free. But it didn’t matter. She had to, and she would. Being here again, it took everything away, even the fear. It was always still here, always warm, always blue. It would rain one day, when she was ready.


We built the Pyramids

This week, thanks to the efforts of Simon, (who is very anal about his macbook and won't let me wear my watch while typing. I don't blame him really. It does scratch), I have discovered The Big Bang Theory. Not the actual theory, the series.

I now have a perpetual Sheldon living inside my head making witty remarks about everything. I have to say, it's very amusing.


Much Ado about Nothing

It's a beautiful outside - the sun, the blue sky, the fact that it's 12:07 and I'm already at home. Had a couple of hours at the Rabat Health Centre this morning as part of our Family Medicine placements. The world of the GP is, well, chaotic and a little all over the place. That said, it's rather fun, if it wasn't for the seemingly 100-year old buildings the work often takes place in. I'm actually waiting for the GP I'm assigned to to call me any time this afternoon to join him on some home visits. It feels like I'm on call. Oh dear.

The Exploding Girl. The film itself seems very deep and slightly odd, so I doubt I'd be promoting it to anyone... except maybe Dan. Could be good though. But damn, I think that's a pretty awesome title right there.

I'm starting to realise that I'm running out of time to do things. Drea caught my attention when she told me she finishes school in about two weeks, which means the A levels arent that far away at all and I am yet to write a single essay. In the meantime poster designs and rehearsals for the Lenten Talks are being flung at me, all the while juggling placements, tutorials and assignments from Uni. I should write write an essay tonight. I shall attempt this.

I ordered C.S. Lewis' classic works as a boxset edition from this week! *glee*

I've had a few thoughts on youtube vlogs recently. Thing is, the two I usually semi-follow (vlogbrothers and equals three) both seem to be disappointing me recently. I still check them, especially the latter, but many things are becoming old, stale, corny and frankly just not entertaining. Which reminds me I still need to check Jamie's. Maybe they just lose their appeal after a while. Or maybe my tastes are changing. I've completely stopped reading webcomics apart from the occassional threepanelsoul (which updates like once a month so it suits my purposes perfectly). Maybe I'm growing up... *shudder* Then again, all these things become immensely interesting during exam time. So maybe that's it.

Geek rant imminent.

I was playing Resident Evil 5 last night. I've been playing it on and off for eons now and I've got the last chapter left to finish. But you know what? I'm not particularly bothered. I've been a fan of the series roughly since the second game came out (which in my opinion was by far the best), but I don't like where the series has gone. Since Code Veronica onwards all you seem to need to do is shoot lots of monsters with big guns and tap buttons in cutscenes. It's alright for a while, the story being the main driving factor behind playing, but even that is fast becoming lame and predictable. If I wanted a good fast paced action game I'd play Killzone. Even Deadspace (which basically has the same dynamics) is more interesting cause at least that game's friggin creepy. Gone are the days of conserving ammo, dodging zombies, looking for clues and keys, solving puzzles, and, most of all, an intruiging story. Maybe it's been milked for all it's worth, but if so let it rest with pride. No matter how much I play I miss the days when zombies were more interested in eating your brains at a shuffle than reloading their AK's while jumping accross rooftops. It never quite feels the same as trying to get out of Racoon City.

Jim Morrison scares me.


Coldest Weekend Evar

So exams are over. I've spent the week doing nothing in terms of work, though it feels like it's been the busiest week of doing nothing for a while now. Currently sipping my tea, just finished packing for the community weekend which I will be leaving for in about an hour. The place is tiny and I foresee a bit of a fiasco. I shall laugh. And possibly point.

I fancy myself the next Jamie Oliver. I jest, I jest. But I have been cultivating an urge to get more into the cooking habit. Thanks to Krissie I'm rather familiar with good places to find recipes, such as Good Food, etc. etc. Not to mention Krissie herself. Just last Wednesday I made myself a ham and cheese omlete [we didn't have any mushrooms :( ] and french toast. No biggie, but coming from someone who's greatest accomplishment previously was pasta from a jar and the odd steak, it's progress. And well, I enjoy it.

Lent starts next week and this year I think I'm going to go pretty hardcore with my fast. I want to invest into this time to really go deeper spiritually. Which means I'm probably going to moan a lot. Inkeeping with this the Lenten Talks are coming up soon, as well as the InYgo fundraiser and Worship Central. This means lots of rehearsals. Then English A level. Not to mention the barrage of placements/assignments/tutorials/logbooks I have to contend with for my real course. This wasn't so inkeeping with that comment was it?

Google Buzz. Ray William Johnson put it as "A cross between Twitter and Facebook..... Twitface?". I think that's a pretty accurate description. Facebook I would probably not even use anymore if it wasn't for all the social organisation that takes place on it and that I get to look at people's photos. Twitter, though seemingly useless, I probably find the most fun of them all. Google buzz.... honestly, how much social networking does a person need to do? I say this, knowing that it's probably going to be one of my open bookmarks half the time. Oh hypocrisy!

Enjoy Carnival everyone!


Altogether abstract

Have you ever struggled to voice the feelings inside you? We all have certain things that we enjoy doing in life. Some of us, indeed, too many. Be they art, music, sport, dance, stamp collecting; they serve us as a means of communicating something within us to the world. This was what the arts prinicipally came out of, but it can be extended to almost anything that a person does voluntarily and regularly. They become part of us - these activities - to form what I suppose one could only call the 'language of life'. You go out for a run every day (perhaps not the weekends though) and if you didn't, you wouldn't feel yourself. One who considers themselves a pianist might be slightly less obliging if they are forced to spend a number of days away from their instrument. Directly or indirectly, these things become part of how we relate to the world through the way we live our lives.

But sometimes one may experience difficulty expressing something within themselves via their adopted avenue, as if it were blocked or cut off entire. Impassable even. It may be the most trivial of things, but may compel the individual to rethink if this should be their avenue at all. Frustration. Disappointment. Despair. The left over bruises after bumping into the obstacles in our way. They readily present themselves, offering to hold us a quiant little 'pity party' for Me, Myself and I.

Yet to sit in this condition, even if the obstacle may be permanent, is to accept defeat. This is the great sadness of many people and the source of many of their regrets. For many a time though the obstacle may be permanent, it is not altogether impassable. It just requires a little bit of creativity.


The Big Book List

Ok, so this ties in with Achie's blog. Had to do it.

The Big Read reckons that the average adult has only read 6 of the top 100 books they've printed.
1) Look at the list and bold those you have read.
2) Italicise those you intend to read
3) Underline the books you LOVE.
4) Reprint this list in your own blog/fb note so we can try and track down these people who've read 6 and force books upon them

1. Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
2. The Lord of The Rings - J.R.R. Tolkien
3. Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte
4. Harry Potter Series - JK Rowling (half)
5. To Kill a Mockingbird - Harper Lee (own it, it's on my list)
6. The Bible

7. Wuthering Heights - Emily Bronte
8. Nineteen Eighty Four - George Orwell
9. His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
10. Great Expectations - Charles Dickens
11. Little Women - Louisa M Alcott
12. Tess of the D'Urbervilles - Thomas Hardy
13. Catch 22 - Joseph Heller
14. Complete Works of Shakespeare
15. Rebecca - Daphne Du Maurier
16. The Hobbit - JRR Tolkien
17. Birdsong - Sebastian Faulks
18. Catcher in the Rye - JD Salinger
19. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
20. Middlemarch - George Eliot
21. Gone With The Wind - Margaret Mitchell
22. The Great Gatsby - F Scott Fitzgerald
23. Bleak House - Charles Dickens
24. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
25. The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
26. Brideshead Revisited - Evelyn Waugh
27. Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoyevsky
28. Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
29. Alice in Wonderland - Lewis Carroll
30. The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame
31. Anna Karenina - Leo Tolstoy
32. David Copperfield - Charles Dickens
33. Chronicles of Narnia - CS Lewis
34. Emma - Jane Austen
35. Persuasion - Jane Austen
36. The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe - C.S. Lewis
37. The Kite Runner - Khaled Hosseini
38. Captain Corelli's Mandolin - Louis De Bernieres
39. Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
40. Winnie the Pooh - AA Milne
41. Animal Farm - George Orwell
42. The Da Vinci Code - Dan Brown
43. One Hundred Years of Solitude - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
44. A Prayer for Owen Meany - John Irving
45. The Woman in White - Wilkie Collins
46. Anne of Green Gables - LM Montgomery
47. Far From The Madding Crowd - Thomas Hardy
48. The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
49. Lord of the Flies - William Golding
50. Atonement - Ian McEwan
51. Life of Pi - Yann Martel (also on my list; also already own it)
52. Dune - Frank Herbert
53. Cold Comfort Farm - Stella Gibbons
54. Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
55. A Suitable Boy - Vikram Seth
56. The Shadow of the Wind - Carlos Ruiz Zafon
57. A Tale Of Two Cities - Charles Dickens
58. Brave New World - Aldous Huxley
59. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time - Mark Haddon
60. Love In The Time Of Cholera - Gabriel Garcia Marquez
61. Of Mice and Men - John Steinbeck
62. Lolita - Vladimir Nabokov
63. The Secret History - Donna Tartt
64. The Lovely Bones - Alice Sebold
65. Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas
66. On The Road - Jack Kerouac
67. Jude the Obscure - Thomas Hardy
68. Bridget Jones' Diary - Helen Fielding
69. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie
70. Moby Dick - Herman Melville
71. Oliver Twist - Charles Dickens
72. Dracula - Bram Stoker
73. The Secret Garden - Frances Hodgson Burnett
74. Notes From A Small Island - Bill Bryson (again, owned and on the list)
75. Ulysses - James Joyce
76. The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
77. Swallows and Amazons - Arthur Ransome
78. Germinal - Emile Zola
79. Vanity Fair - William Makepeace Thackeray
80. Possession - AS Byatt
81. A Christmas Carol - Charles Dickens
82. Cloud Atlas - David Mitchell
83. The Color Purple - Alice Walker
84. The Remains of the Day - Kazuo Ishiguro
85. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert
86. A Fine Balance - Rohinton Mistry
87. Charlotte's Web - EB White
88. The Five People You Meet In Heaven - Mitch Albom
89. Adventures of Sherlock Holmes - Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (I have the complete collection but who knows when I’ll actually read it)
90. The Faraway Tree Collection - Enid Blyton
91. Heart of Darkness - Joseph Conrad
92. The Little Prince - Antoine De Saint-Exupery
93. The Wasp Factory - Iain Banks
94. Watership Down - Richard Adams
95. A Confederacy of Dunces - John Kennedy Toole
96. A Town Like Alice - Nevil Shute

97. The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas

98. Hamlet - William Shakespeare
99. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory - Roald Dahl
100. Les Miserables - Victor Hugo

So, in total...

Read: 6

Intend to read: 11

Love: 1

Not impressive. I knew it wouldn't be, mainly cause I only started getting into classical literature about a year ago or so, so don't be so harsh. What impresses me is that out of those six listed I only love one, and it's the Bible! (I'll let you decide whether that really counts or not).

Oh and I did read Moby Dick, but the kid's version not the classic, so I didn't include it. I'm just sayin'.