Lolita light of my life, fire of my loins... Blissful

I really should not let myself run on with my feelings. but i shall try to keep this obsessive post to a minimal pain as possible. oh wait yes i do have an audience, you ...the reader. so please try not to judge me, cause i am, too a person and have my own prejudices and has, of course my own obsessions. 

Due to the highly classified nature of this post i cannot reveal in anyway the actual people in this drama of sorts. so i shall use other names for them. 

So lets begin. 

I have been watching this person (my Lolita) no really but we have never spoken, or at least not at length. Now i think i have actually contemplated in liking this person, yes yes it breaks my vow of perhaps never liking a person so fickly but i have been, adoring from a distance, this lolita. yes, laugh all you want. And no no i hardly know this person. just that we did perform in several events. Nope i will not reveal where or who the person is, my Lolita, which is really disgusting if you have actually read Nabokov's novel which fits perfectly as the person, makes me somewhat suffer, her presence is something which i actually await. and adore it with all my heart. please do not take me wrong as some bloody sicko, serisuiment... It is just that i am contemplating liking this person. However there are too many complications at the moment. I will only step in at the right time. 

So my lolita, how does she look like ? ... give me the Pleasure to express... my lola, is petit, and unassuming. Her eyes, dance playfully every time I accidentally glance, and our eyes lock, there behind the softer exterior the eyes play and flicker, like fire. Her eyes, always seeming teary but beautiful soft eyes. Now i need not explain a lot but those are eyes you will definitely remember... remember. her nose, a pert nose, a soft contour on the playful face of hers. Her lips not full but glossy, wet, delicate the velvet soft. little words can ever describe, my lolita. Her body, the shadows and light play escentuate her softer features. ( i observed her asleep on the sofa) her hands, small, writing in a nearly child like fashion brings delight to my heart every time i watch the pen glide haphazardly across the surface of the paper. her hands are small, i believe smooth, for i brushed against them once. Her legs, props her only a few meters off the ground, but they are those that hold up a brilliant lady. my lola.. Lolita. 

yes it may seem disgusting to you to read this but endulge me a little please... it is not really Love love but there is something developing and i am going to remain status quo at the moment because i have no open opportunity. 

Yes the description is very general, this is so that you will not figure out who it is as simple as that. 

yes rather than bore you with another poem, i guessed i should have fun with a bit of prose too. :D. anyway please please do not read this and make me this perverse and sick man with unquenchable desire, for this Lolita of his. NO NO i beg you, reader to imagine your first love... the passion and the desire for each other is, indescribable. Please do not judge me nor try to figure out who it is who is moi lolita. seriously, it is a bad idea. just read the post and get on with life. really just get on with life, your life... i just want to stay ... here ... for a while more. 

Bliss 

something really creepy

argh.... yes it is a feeling that i will pretty much never never forget. oh come on, i know you really want to hear the lead up to the story. please just follow along. 

so, i slept at 2, but woke up EXACTLY at 3 AM .... really really creepy hour of the night, it is probably the deepest of the night. But it was really really creepy cause i slept at 3 and it felt like forever but i only woke up to realize that it was only 4AM... really really disgusting. 

i am typing this at about 5 am (my dad just walked in to rail at me) ... anyway, really really creeped out now cause we were just talking bout this at guitar ensemble. really ahhhhhhh

no idea what is happening. but i can seriously feel things move, around.  

seriously BLEARGH !!! What the HELL ???! a message to my closest friend

BLOODY HELL (oh what a brilliant note to start this post on). Ok... i will try to control myself and not swear.  

Here begins my rant, WHY THE BLOODY HELL DO PEOPLE RANT ABOUT THEM JUST BEING FRIENDS WITH GIRLS. (this is in reference to a friend of mine). 'S BLOOD!!! 

Seriously, in all truth, I personally am not a very friendly person (no no really...) so being friends with people is, lets just say more troublesome because i have to narrow it down still and actually choose, slowly who i can really co exist with... ie : knowledgeable and the ability to understand Sarcasm like the back of their hand etc. 

yes, reader, i know that you are probably wondering : huh ? 

yes i admit it proudly : i am indeed a very prejudiced and proud person mostly always playing to my own vanity and well so i become very very narcissistic. 

Ok back to the main point. let me try to be really tactful now, (forget it)  

seriously understand that people not being your girlfriend HAS NOTHING to be annoyed about no no really, go, go SMACK yourself. yes yes you may say, but people only treat me as their friend ... my friend you just are not tactful ENOUGH or BRAVE enough to step up to that plate. No really, if you have to rely on my opinion, NO just don;t rely on my opinion : have your OWN one. Yes i may not like something but if you do, then it should be your pursuit and not for me to say anything because it is YOUR OWN F***ING opinion. 

(breathes deeply) OK I shall leave it here first.  

ok i am back (sits back on his crummy chair), Right where was I , oh right, YA ok fine you have your own opinion, and you don't need my opinion. but seriously bloody hell i know she is you lady of choice but have you ever looked at it from a non skewed point of view ? as in just being an objective viewer, a spectator. IT LOOKS AWFUL ! really. CONTROL YOURSELF DAMN IT ! i know you really hate me now but CONTROL first.  

right, persevering on, it is not that i am saying that she is not right for you but you must understand that some thing i am prejudiced against and it blinds me. so as the really cliche line goes (DAMN) love is blind. So if love is so blinding then let it lead you on. please do not take on my prejudices. yes i am sort of an elitist or somewhat of a fascist. DONT JUDGE ME ok. you have your own pride and hates. I have mine just mine are more personal towards people. ok i shall leave it here. no more.

speak your mind.    

3 fingers ... tell a story

one - just a prod

two - a little futher 

three- JACKPOT !!! 

so tells the story of the three fingers, they entered and they left, the pot of gold a the end of the tunnel. and like a train they rushed through the tunnel lighting up. 

or it too can be described, like an explorer in a cave.  a deep deep cave. plunging down deep deep three great explorers into the unknown. 

..... ok ok this is an inside joke. and is not meant to be understood by random readers. yup 

and bryan if you see this... :P  

I cant believe i am back here...

and yes... I am back... here.. again. 

and no it is not fun coming back to the computer and typing something. Because of my great disdain for typing, blogging is sometimes quite tiresome without inspiration. 

Apart from that, there is really not much apart from the fact that I have holiday homework undone and that there are only 3 days left. Oh and I have been rather moody recently hmmm must be the weather... 

Oh and talking about that, we have absolutely DREADFUL weather down here. HOT AS HELL!!!

so this is just a small update for those of you who actually do waste your time looking at this... know that you should be getting off your bum and actually doing something... better. 

the song of the BOHEMIAN !!

Who died? Our Akita Evita You make fun - yet I'm the one Attempting to do some good Or do you really want a neighborhood Where people piss on your  Stoop every night? Bohemia, Bohemia's A fallacy in your head This is Calcutta, Bohemia is dead Dearly beloved we gather here to say our goodbyes Dies irae - dies illa, Kyrie eleison Yitgadal v'yitkadash Here she lies, no one knew her worth The late great daughter of Mother Earth On these nights when we Celebrate the birth In that little town of Bethlehem We raise our glass - you bet your ass to -  La vie Boheme La vie Boheme La vie Boheme La vie Boheme La vie Boheme To days of inspiration  Playing hookey, making Something out of nothing The need to express-  To communicate, To going against the grain, Going insane, going mad To loving tension, no pension To more than one dimension, To starving for attention, Hating convention, hating pretension Not to mention of course, Hating dear old Mom and Dad To riding your bike, Midday past the three-piece suits To fruits - to no absolutes-  To Absolute - to choice- To the Village Voice- To any passing fad To being an us for once ... instead of a them!! La vie Boheme, La vie Boheme Ahhemm Hey Mister - she's my sister So that's five miso soup, four seaweed salad Three soy burger dinner, two tofu dog platter And one pasta with meatless balls Eww It tastes the same If you close your eyes And thirteen orders of fries Is that it here? Wine and beer! To hand-crafted beers Made in local breweries To yoga, to yogurt, to rice and beans and cheese To leather, to dildoes, to curry vindaloo To huevos rancheros and Maya Angelou Emotion, devotion, to causing a commotion Creation, vacation Mucho masturbation Compassion, to fashion, to passion when it's new To Sontag To Sondheim To anything taboo Ginsberg, Dylan Cunnigham and Cage, Lenny Bruse Langston Hughes To the stage To Uta. To Buddha. Pablo Neruda, too. Why Dorothy and Toto went over the rainbow To blow off Auntie Em La vie Boheme Sisters? We're close Brothers! Bisexuals, trisexuals, homo sapiens, Carcinogens, hallucinogens, men, Pee Wee Herman German wine, turpetine, Gertrude Stein Antoniotti, Bertolucci, Kurosawa Carmina Burana To apathy, to entropy, to empathy, ecstacy Vaclav Havel - The Sex Pistols, 8BC To no shame - never playing the Fame Game To marijuana To sodomy, it's between God and me To S & M Waiter ... Waiter ... Waiter ....... Waiter! La vie Boheme In honor of the death of Bohemia an impromptu salon  will commence immediately following dinner ...  Maureen Johnson, just back from her spectacular one-night engagement at the eleventh street lot,  will perform Native American tribal chants backwards through her vocoder, while accompanying herself on the electric cello -  which she ain't never studied. And Mark Cohen will preview his new documentary about his inability  to hold an erection on the high holy days. And Mimi Marquez, clad only in bubble wrap,  will perform her famous lawn chair-handcuff dance to the sounds of iced tea being stirred.  And Roger will attempt to write a bittersweet, evocative song.  That doesn't remind us of "Musetta's Waltz!" Angel Dumott Schunard will model the latest fall fashions  from Paris while accompanying herself on the 10 gallon plastic pickle tub. And Collins will recount his exploits as anarchist -  including the tale of the successful reprogramming of the M.I.T. virtual reality equipment to self-destruct, as it broadcasts the words "Actual reality - Act Up - Fight AIDS"

to be or not to be... REVOLUTION !!!

Revolutions are made by people with ideas, Rebellions are made by people with BIG MOUTHS!!! 

now on to my rant... oh how i loath my school... of course i shall not mention my school's name lest it cause me to loose my job. 

Tomorrow, on monday, i have the awful obligation to hear my boss speak, disgusting. and he is bloody going to rant on for 4 bloody hours. Oh Mon Dieu!!! 

it is sick, and cruel to take away my holiday which i am entitled to. They take it away like that ... unbelievable. (i roll my eyes in absolute disdain) 

i'ld rather be at home with my lolita than be... there sitting there listening to him drone and drone and drone. his mere presence could kill... my sanity. Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu l'idiot sanglant est une douleur ! 

yes that ends my rant. 

moi lolita

Désolé , this entire post will be in french and then followed in English. 

Je suis dans l'amour avec le lolita.... sérieusement. La raison pour laquelle j'emploie le français est parce que je l'apprends...lentement. J'essaye de pouvoir au moins faire une conversation courte vers la fin des vacances de marche... d'accord? 

I trust that you have no idea what I said, right ? good... we shall keep it that way. 

And my kingdom is being usurped

Argh !!! too many people, too many people in my room.

And My mother is being a pain, driving me insane with her thoughts on properness and neatness 

BLOODY HELL !!!! 

noise noise, hell it is irritating, soon soon i must get out of this hell hole. hmmm maybe that is why i cannot study at home. Yes my mother runs a tight shop here and is really dogmatic... yes there is no opposition, it is a dictatorship !!! 

BLOODY FACIST !!! 

heck, this is  just a short in the spur of the moment rant.  HEIL BOHEMIA !! 

The gods must be crazy

Why, why did i say that ? darn, the computer has got me. 

A ridiculous excuse. 

humph I don't care. 

ok then so here is another snippet at literature and a short really brief moment into my really mundane life. which i trust that your life is as mundane to because your looking at my blog sigh ....

GET A LIFE !!!!!!!!!!

now back to literature

yes you might be screaming : Its all Greek to me ! and yes in fact Myth has been around since, well god knows when. 

Myth is a body of stories that matters in each community, the have their own separate myths

and stories

Be it Germanic, Irish, American, European 

IT IS NOT JUST ROMAN AND GREEK MYTH !!!

myth can be overt subject matter for poems and art (like duh....) 

So the question now is : Why would a 20th Century author draw on mythology ? 

Walcott reminds us of the parallel of the potential of greatness that resides in us, no matter how humble our worldly circumstances are 

Many writers have emulated Homer's Illiad 

Virgil patterns the Aeneas according to Homeric works

the parallels can often be ironised

writers use a large part of the body of a story as mythology. readers recognize it.

This recognition makes the story much much more meaningful 

Walcott's omeros means in local dialect,  -Homeric ....Naturally 

Now I trust that because of the lack of flow of the post you might actually have a desire for my murder. so... I don't care. (no not really)... (NO NO SERIOUSLY... i dont care )

so now onto life... 

I am bloody tired, sparred today with a bunch of friends, really shack and about to collapse, yet I am still here typing... (you really should be grateful) 

Must have sleep...zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. 

Apart from that, facebook has been growing onto me, it has become the starting link i click,  (hmmm i should control myself) anyway, this is my second post for today  so i guess you can already tell how bored I am. 

I should just slit my wrist and dance in my blood (sorry inside joke) 

JUMP FOR JOY : EXAMS ARE OVER ... A levels have just begun 

read the fine print... absolutely disgusting !!!!

Be still my beating heart. the rest is silence AHHHHHHH Shakespeare ! 

My inspiration: a tribute ! and Hey! a new poem.

Inspiration comes from the inside... or I would like to keep up that idea. 

or perhaps from events that happen, songs or just random stuff that creeps up your leg and bites you in the ass. 

Apart from that inspiration comes from above, somewhere up there so this post is a tribute to the people up there somewhere who have been the muses in my head : this poem is for you people. It is called 

Myth-Love 

Lady who sits by the banks

Your dainty feet play against the water

Playfully, across the water

 

Like willow branches your hair

Bowing to the river edge

Never tied up in a bundle

Free, loose

The red leaves swaying in the soft breeze of spring

 

I dare no approach you, the lady of love

Aphrodite, just a look, a peek

To embrace,

An Angel , a Goddess. Made in the perfection

 

Of heavenly splendor.  And you recite, whisper into my ear

Music, the food of love

Let the dew of your speech

quench this burning soul.

 

 Flowers, fall, float on the reflection of you

Water, send a message of which I will never speak

You sit there quietly, not far from me.

I sit on the wet fertile field

Near.

 

Like a cat I sit there purring of your presence

It soothes like a balm of oil on a bruise

 

In your little chess game

I am just a pawn never considered,

Never mentioned.  Silence is the language we speak.

 

The cotton frock you have on is the life of the grass

Demeter awakes, envious of you

For you, revive the spring.

 

I tread nearer amongst the green

And you move

Away, slowly

So I step carefully, carefully

Like a waltz we play in this dance of the morning.

 

The water reflects a million you’s as the blossoms tango across the water’s face.

I have seen your face

Before

Amongst the nymphs and faeries, your voice, your laughter

A muse.

None as inspiring as you, O lady by the water.

 

My love is

but to the point of obsession

Humbert Humbert

His love, No not love

A lust for his Lolita, Disgusting bastard !

 

Not like him

I love, My love more pure, like the radient sun shinining in the sky

And like the cotton frock

Light and white

A pure innocent

Infatuation.

 

Do not follow me

Please do not, but let long

Let flow

As the river grows and the wind doth blow in the willow

Let it go, go and make it free

The rest is silence.

Yes it is a bloody long poem compared to the rest which i have written but perhaps not as good ... yet ... (raises glass of stout) to those on HIGH !!! (gulps down stout- it really burns !!! ) wipes mouth , flicks it on to table. ( barbaric is'nt it) 

Anyway this post is for all inspiration that i have had and still have   

To understand to be understood... kind of ...

So i am sitting here in front of my computer typing this post ... no seriously it is not as exciting as you think it is. 

oh by the way i am still laughing at those people taking art,  sigh i guess it was just never meant to be. (I feel your pain... HAH NOT!!!!) 

Anyway, my exams are over... no really... they are gone. FINALLY... the sweet release. 

EMBRACE THE MARCH HOLS. 

Ok apart from that i have something lit to post. 

Hanseldee and Greteldum 

Literature grows out of other Literature. 

Readers (i shall not insult you) are knowledgeable people.

Parallels and plot structure all can be found in (surprise) Kiddy Lit. 

Alice in Wonderland, Treasure Island, Narnia and the greatest of ALL !!! 

Hansel and Gretel !

WHAT?!!!!

yes.. ok follow me on this ... 2 people left in a plight, not trying to create fairy tales but instead to use details patterns to create texture and feel into the story

Fairy tales all belong to the BIG STORY !

It has been ingrained into our consciousness 

there is irony within every fairy tale 

we want strangers in our stones but at the same time we also desire familiarity 

This comes from texts that we already know - fairy tales. 

I know it is confusing... but trust me... i am as lost as you. 

  

yawns :O

I am sleepy sleepy... Really tired. 

one... more... day .... one ... day ... more...... to the end of it all.  (hmmm it rhymes)

argh bloody hell the computer is lagging on me.

anyway... onward onward... to a literature paper... the final lap...zzzzzzzzzzz... damn ! (drool all over keyboard) 

trying to stay awake

Ahhhhh... i will rest here ... come gentle day ...zzzzzzzzzzz

Chinese... 华人讲汉语

So we stereotype... hua ren jiang hua yu... 

If you don't already know, I have failed my Chinese at A levels. Yes this post may seem like a rant but hear me out. 

So we trust in Bilingualism and we decide it through what ? ... our heritage ... our race. Really really absurd. 

I know i am in no position to say much, failing my Chinese. However I trust that my ability to converse, write and perhaps blog in English would be able to cover up for my flaws in Chinese. 

Apart from that there is nothing much to say apart from, I trust that I will do better next time. 

here is another poem which I wrote in response to a book which i am currently reading :Lolita

Dainty, Pure, Eyes

The look of innocence

Behind it all

A cruel, cruel heart.

 

Come out from the grave, you Vamp! You Tramp!

I will seek you.

The rotting waste beneath

The cold hard, hard cover.

 

Rain, a better than you,

The crow cries foul

The sky a blood red.

 

A blossom with

Fangs.

Let the Bitter Waves

Hit you.

 

Your tongue

Strained talk, lies

Untold

Awkward not knowing how to act.

 

Serpent bites.

Eagle flies, flies away, fear.

Obsession,

a poison.

 

Lo, Lo, Lo there passes the name

When in doubt...it is from Shakespeare...or the bible

Here is in the series of literature part 6 and 7 I'm afraid... 

Go on ... if you dare

The period of the 18th to 21st century and probably beyond, 

From Othello to Juliet and Hamlet

several quotations from Our beloved Maestro: Shakespeare: All the world's a stage and its men and women merely players, to thine self be true... 

To be or Not to be that is the question.. .

So, why do writers bother about old Will? off the top of my head ... to make them seem smarter

it is a sort of sacred text and confers a type of authority 

He has been ingrained into our psyche 

Intertextuality - Will and Modern writers 

A reworking of a message-the new author has his/her own agenda 

SHAKESPEAREAN sagas are these great compelling language fluous 

it all depends on our understanding of a prose and poetry

So if you read a work and it sounds TOO GOOD to be true... you probably know where it came from .... 

The rest is silence ..... 

Now onto the Bible - writers do quote scripture 

Genesis to Revelation in all its holiness is used by billions of authors (perhaps All)

The Apocolypse - a biblical parallel

perhaps a little can come from the bible 

These modern and post modern texts give the allusion to biblical sources to show a 

DISPARITY or DISRUPTION

Christ figures ... 

a sort of resonance and meaningful beyond the literal word

It feels heavy but it sparkles with promise 

But is your reading going to truly be enhance if you read the bible ... erm ... not quite 

The stories of the bible NEVER grow old.

So this is my mindless ramblings of a noblemein a noble ranter courtesy of 

Prof Thomas C Foster 

not everything is from me of course ... Botti Thadaeus