After ‘Catcher in the Rye’**
Do I hate everyone, everything as much as Holden?
—
Posted this in 5th of November 2008, after reading Catcher in the Rye, quite obviously. I am reposting this in honor of its creator JD Salinger, who, today, has gone on recluse forever. But he lives on, he does.
“Be young or die. That was my plan.”
I judge little-known (at least, known little by me, for who knows they’re like huuuge somewhere, some time) books by their first lines.Well, that’s my way of convincing myself to buy it (you know, when Oprah isn’t there. hah! I kid, i kid.), especially if I didn’t have the money to buy, or had prior budgetary allocations for said amount, like say, a month’s worth of Jasmine rice. Well, it happened that I was totally hankering for anything intellectually-stimulating other than White Dragons and Where’s Fluffy and Strawberry Fields, and mostly after intoxicating weeeeks and weeeeks of cheap tweets and Wes Anderson flicks.
Okay, so, whatever. I just had to buy a book. And there’s something witty and pretentious about using ‘20 Fragments of A Ravenous Youth” as a title, and from a actual mainland-er Chinese, too.
It turned out quite a good read. I didn’t expect much (for sure, The Catcher in the Rye, this is not) and it didn’t disappoint either. There were some cool moments, there, too, some I’ve listed below. I’m definitely going to re-visit China. Someday. Some day.
“Be young or die. That was my plan.”
“I felt safer once I got there. Humans need cages around their bodies - wombs, houses, coffins.”
“From inside the building came the sound of police dogs barking. I turned my back on that place of Morality and Power and Guidance.”
“Huizi once told me that, when a young person started drinking, it was a sign that they were getting old. It suddenly felt very true.”
“People always say it’s harder to hear a wounded heart than a wounded body. Bullshit. It’s exactly the opposite - a wounded body takes much longer to heal. A wounded heart is nothing but ashes of memories. But the body is everything. The body is blood and veins and cells and nerves. A wounded body is when, after leaving a man you’ve lived with for three years, you curl up on your side of the bed as if there’s still somebody beside you. That is a wounded body: a body that feels connected to someone who is no longer there.”
lights
shrouded
by this white mist-
ghosts of my yore,
supposedly-
waltzing into oblivion
numb
apparitions
i moan off me
a release
evanescent
maruya
Sizzling,
you are swathed
with that rich scarletsaccharin.
You draw little boys
towards that filling
essence of sweetsoft pulp
that’s you,
delectable.
Hungrily
and withoutmercy,
they savor you,
after shelling out
a few bucks.
A quite fair deal.
For you have filled them,
satisfied their childishcravings
complemented their scantiness,
stained their lips.
|May 2002|
You Walk Away** Cold and Empty
And quite annoyed and furious with the filmmakers for this crap. I was expecting to join in a cacophony of applause at the end of the film, but everyone just sort of fled from the cinema fast and without even staying a bit to savor the lingering after taste of a film well done, you know, just staring blankly at the raining credits. Oh, I really, really wanted to like this film, convince myself to believe in the good reviews, the nice aspects about it, the cinematography, the what-not, yet….
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, despite raving reviews, truly and utterly disappoints. Forget about separating it from the book crap, it shouldn’t be. We understand the limitations of film, more so than its capabilities, but they butchered the book really. Whereas the book was very engrossing, the movie certainly dragged on as long as it should be on unimportant side bits and completely dropped the very essential elements that held the story together. I mean, that’s okay for those who read the book, we know the story, and what’s behind the story, but still so much more was expected. Ain’t that what’s movie-going is for? I agree with someone who said that this installment deserves a do-over. Seriously. And they better better not mess-up Deathly Hallows, to think it’s gonna be the same director and all. What a weekend-wrecker.
One more sad thing: the sight of toddlers being brought along in the cinema. WTF were the parents thinking? And it was a 10pm showing, too. Geez. Bahrain is weird.
Just Can’t Help It**
Told myself to refrain from buying books here in Bahrain because once I start doing so, it’ll be a buying frenzy thereon. I could live with that actually. The thing is I don’t want to have a container-van-full of books once I get out off of this beige patch of land. But then again life is too short to deprive myself from real books. I’ve been reading alot actually but via cost-free pdf’s. Also I like to make notes while reading, underline great quotes and cool phrases, and say ‘tsk!’ and ‘wtf’ to some. The thing is, books are quite steep here, so there, that’s stopping me there from buying (unlike China which has like ridiculously cheap books) being the spendthrift (really) that I am. For now, I’d just like to enjoy this read (and hopefully not be trapped in the misery that this book might contain.)
Pinch Me***
Here I go again.
There’s a pain that can be relieved. With Mefenamic Acid. Aspirin. Paracetamol. There’s a pain that can be soothed. With dark chocolate. Vanilla ice cream. Alcohol. Massage. Sex. There’s a pain that can be suppressed. with further pain. Cuts on the wrists. Heads bouncing off walls. Creative ink injections on skin.
But it never really leaves. Not really. Even if it strays from your body for a while, or longer, its spirit remains. Yet, it’s the most excruciating bit. That essence that lingers. Untreatable.
At First Sight
Blindness is precious. People should be raving about this movie. I mean, the smart artistic ones at least, art film buffs. Those who loved Cidade de Deus. And Fernando Mereilles. And Saramago, the NObel Laureate writer of the book the film is based from.
The making shouldn’t be missed either. It just completes the whole creative circle. I mean, I cried. Understanding the artistry of it all. The book. The screenplay. The acting. The cinematography. The music. The direction. The film. The whole creative process. Like I understand that. I’ve felt that. I feel that.
You’ll know what I mean once you see it, them, the film and the making of the film.
Geez, I’m just too freaking overwhelmed to say anything more.
Think**
I’m thinking. Story ideas, mostly. I got one. Something depressing. Revolves around an exit plan. Something that I’m feeling strongly right about now and most every day these days. This may perhaps be my very gracious departure I am concocting on. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps. Okay so there’s another one. Something that I’ve already made a draft of, actually. In my cellphone. The concept is like with two people’s correspondence thru SMS. Some childish stuff, but some deep shit also hanging around the edges. Yeah, and one more would play on inter-cultural, inter-racial, inter-religious affairs/relationships, the conflict - zooming in on something particular, specific, something. Which I’ve yet to come up with. So I’m thinking I shouldn’t. I should just write. Maybe later.
Just Read: Forrest Gump Screenplay
A fine watch. An even finer read.