HAMLET MY FRIEND- HOW DO YOU DO?

Refreshing the paradigm to truly configure what is quiet the case with Hamlet. No, why quiet so! So.. so eh, what to say? He is audible yes, condescending yes, but where goes his ringing sense as he whooped a dagger dagger play.

“I will speak daggers to her.”

How now, that its your beloved’s father. Should I centre the foci or no foci is centre itself. In Shakesperean play, the true strength of dramatic propensity and vivid chore of what’s of mouth to chew in as it gets its hands on gum ..and sweetly blow. I found it there. A great grand wild in the exodus mind that propels and fore against mashes of man, dust, and nature. He is striving against that thing, ..in becoming a well what to say. I am not as verbosy as Hamlet is, I suppose. He and his assailable hacks of nature leaves nature at dispense itself. But evil is not to surrender. For its not nature? Anomoly of human is in ‘action’. Fore he does one, he need do contemplate one. Don’t you get your elders siege and biege on that till you grow old yourself and think it your duty to screw little heads. Contemplation, meditation… , a kind of thing that doesn’t reciprocates action?

“..wings as swift As meditation…”

But do you think all things of nature are in reciprocal relation? Just how many get reciprocated? Just think on it. His is the fuss on benign of villainy that is all action? Aey, cut chew on this one.. In dramas, just who is more action: Hero or villain? But yea yea, he do, our dear Hamlet acts ..but acts in nerves? But that’s the difference. Oh, now that I think of it, can you think essential outmark difference between a hero and villain ..on lines that threads them apart [aside that evil and virtue. Even to that, now universally granted a hero necessarily not be virtuous. If you need hook on what I am saying, just fuss about any modern drama. Okay.] An actor prior to a damper? Is that so? But that’s substantialy subjective. But hey if drama is objective, where exactly and it gets directed for? For the hellish numbers of drama written and produced.. why note that junk. It defies the very appel to appaling effect. So, the point of view.. is what rolls the ball as subjective or objective? That its arc of adam’s impulse that grades and grands as it pleases? A lease on that one please. Ho, a shudder in brokenhood. Hamlet’s broken. Yet yet yet, to forth ove on next leveing this one,  I hit on why why you say or propose “Oedipus Complex” ..as if he had such subjections, his melancholy at his dead father is not justified. For Oedipus implies an intrisicty to wish forth mother’s love and killing one’s father. And that’s his father, the senior Hamlet. Smash goes your theory dear theorists! And what of delay of dear murderous instinct you want to say? The exact proposition in his DELAY arrives at that you imply he wanted a murder attempt. An attempt is a thing to be delayed yes. But THAT was not an attempt! He sought a better case for his father pinned in purgatory.

“Let not the royal bed of Denmark be
A couch for luxury and damnèd incest.”

His wishes withal, rampant in cope with sense to unsense to plot a seek unto Claudius. Vain how callous in induct that he like a nobler as would, to challenge and acclaim publicly, ..he lie secretly in ambush. But that’s a rat or cat? A latter or prior, yes but is by radical lecture of mind seeking ..seekth forgery out. To lie and land unto frailty beyond, the rapacious cleave of venge’. He prolled about in his nook, ..in consistent mime to reap gain against concotion of dabbed in the pug of his allied life. Is life his ally? Or sense yes? No. He is out of it? And he CHOOSES to? In dire identity, he called forth his tragic flaw. In scum’s sought, you rally ‘gainst to pry fore ALL scum. That’s he duely rolls forth. That’s his tragedy. A recur of unsense choiced out of sense to rally aginst vulgarity could be very gradable sort of tragedy, ..and thus gradeably felt. To purr in lieu, you can’t pull. ‘Cause you are a monopoly of life. And life if rolled, shall boggle polyrinse.

“Does it not, think'st thee, stand me now upon--
He that hath kill'd my king and whored my mother,
Popp'd in between the election and my hopes,
Thrown out his angle for my proper life,
And with such cozenage--is't not perfect conscience,
To quit him with this arm? “  

In retrica of bid of melancholy he is driven, whither he wisheth to steer forth end.. like any man would. A Shakesperean dramatic action with its three componential instrumentalities.. “Thread”, “Movement”, and “Collision”.. riddles forth a row against the wave, consequently breach to suffer.

“To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them?

His madness is a feigned breach. And suffers as in the wreck of his conflict. This, the inner conflict anon rolls dump and ho delineates a nigger of fashion of pain feigned in MADNESS. In notorious guise, it oft lends you its identity. You are outrun by its name. Even if:

“..the time is out of joint.”

..you shall kneed a face. And hampers shall bog thy vision if you had any. And haste shall stomp on thee its lid. And nettle of pod shall sickle life unto reel. Where it pleases thence. Hamlet’s a bleak rudder of each striven soul… . We get to meet him now and then, but little do vision aid, lol :v .

 

#Adieus

 

 

My Apologies to 'Pakistani Literature'

Well, the last time you see I turned it down to proceed. But the nights are long and the sleeps are hard to struck. And I am very much a doctor to diagnose my thesis point about a half-read book right or wrong. So, you may believe, i proceeded with the book “Pakistani Literature”. And I did enter into the poetry section last time with the perusal of two of poems done. I quite forgot the fact sir! that the book i was reading hath contents of different minds. And what i am provided with at the beginning of the book might not be the same that is to come! This oblivious leading lead me to the prejudiced notion of regarding the book unjustified to its subject. So, when i began this time, i was reminded by the click of notion that the last book injected –well to put it in my plain words: the poetry is more prophetic to pierce into the spirits and express undulating spiritual experiences which prose is incapable to even hunt. And i was convinced as i did ‘read’ poetry, or to put it other way did elicit their conjectures and projections of lives, and riding in their caprice becoming part and parcel of their hoods of words. Sometimes a hunter, sometimes a lover, sometimes an artist, or may be a shopkeeper, or one who’s waiting for his rail-train, or being struck by some brooding news from home, or is it a picnic in the sun! When our life is chilled, we are warmed in theirs. We tend to life, when we are dead. That’s why those in corners read more than you basking in love. They are shrunk to borrow life. And so did i that night. These poems propped my head distracted in their throbbing. I loved especially ones of Athar Tahir, Maki Kureishi, and Taufiq Rafat. The poetry- their dusky, simple styles, some real close to our inbred culture, though some in vaults of foreign shades. The tradition i found, even ours could be expressed! The sentiment is in soaring high in the soaking clouds that says ‘see down there you live too’ and down here then i cast my eyes above, then tilt it down ove’ the book, euphoric at finding these reverend spirits found in print. ..How Maki Kureishi puts in her poem “Absent Daughter”,

‘I keep listening

for your voice, but this silence clangs

like a denting yard.’

A sentiment so plain, yet deep and like coaxing those injuries again. End, she says:

‘I hear only

the postman’s tread, and the clang

of your letter.’

In her poem “The Shopkeeper”, how with decent jib of words, she expresses..

‘Carefully, at each slap of the wind

he dusts his shop;...’

In another verse... she goes as..

‘Pausing now and again to assess

his work. Does he sell anything?...’

Oh, i am so in love with her. She writes beautifully. There is no pretension, nor force in it. Its like a sway of feeling. No more.

Alamgir Hashmi in his poem “Down And Out In Malibu”, how he excels in his wandering spirits, and says:

‘The bird and the breeze are themselves a wandering lot,

and do not mind this clumsy seeking of refuge.’

And in his another poem “On Seeing A Poster In The Showcase Cinemas”, he puts..

‘that i am too far removed

to fight back with them the rain, wind, anything.’

The nuance troubled with hope and its subtleties of enaction, that’s the hook of interpretation i score here with his rigorous expression.

There is wonder in art you know, to mark that how of all it chose a penner and exprex’t itself in the vain collapses of poet’s inks.   

...To read more of the poetry of Pakistani literature, consult this book “Pakistani Literature”- The Contemporary English Writers edited by “Alamgir Hashmi”.

P.S

My apologies, in being quick to mark my quirk thoughts on half-read book last time :( . Ah! Just that i have short energy-span.

Pakistani Literature

The striking appeal by the title “Pakistani Literature”, and being never been through any English work of a Pakistani author before, it came more as a phase of mortification in hopes prior to being anything else. To put it honestly so far as I found, the ideals don’t dictate our culture..  the hanking up with a jib of ‘polyglot culture’-well, thats what the preface admits too. Must here observe that with language comes the intimacies with culture, so I personally won’t agree with the title of the book. There’s an unjustification in that! The prose-section, I went through it all. It was fine if to highlight that peculiar issue –the author had a fine sense and he did justice on account of the story itself.  Each of ‘em, I’ll attribute, well a few are aput ah :v . Especially, the short-story “With Music By Dmitri Tiomkin: A Short Story” by “Zulfiqar Ghose” he made a distinguished remark where he says: ‘Those spectators who have to rely on their own eyes are, therefore, full of doubt, not knowing whether to believe the first or the second group of the privileged owners of binoculars, and are discussing whether binoculars should be banned so that everyone could see the same thing.’  How that by mocking the urging minds and curious eyes who hath to put up with something but a ‘source’ is abridging them ove’ away to discriminated lands that they don’t inhabit the same sense? And the queer vicious novelty that heaps of great organs/systems are bringing and bingeing thus distorting and causing such hegemony of truth. Tut!  And what more to put is that ‘The spectators on the highest tier congratulate each other on possessing the best seats, and... they are where they are, and if anything seems to be on the horizon, then let the others squabble over what they make of it. They know what it is, having best view, but they are not going to tell the others who have not paid as much for their lowly seats.’ Now you make of it fella’, i don’t need put another word- . Here was where I found this story awful, elsewhere I was finding trouble in making out what the exactest plot was, though the transitions in it were novel and interesting.  

Now for poetry section, i did perusal of few prior to the idea that i was struck with abjection and disgust to drop the book all. For care of knowledge, the dread of falling off the grounds .. thats where depression names itself. And that is the time you must now close the book!

I don’t know if I got prejudiced by what impression I perceived, but anyways that was my notice! If you want to contrast yours, the book is all the way there in the world. Choice is yours to take it if you please.

Cheers~

Aspects of Literature, book !

A brittle child as me would study something a sort, and yet sought it hard to assimilate what he read! The whole book’s about what the hell in essence? I hath yet not learned. The title “aspects of literature”.. so not a book a non-literature fella might be fond of. But well, one engaged in perusal must be capable to derive and produce knowledge. The dumb-heads are here where they struck off. To pucker out my recreation from it and what i remembers is that its something about soaking the soggy leaves soaked in criticism on criticism. Lol. Well, ya’ know that they wanted to pre-mode you with the understanding what criticism is? May be hell yeah its function and the purpose it serves and the kinds like literary criticism, philosophical criticism, and then there was one another name.  Ah! All i’ve t’ say its a good damn thingy to slit and pluck out what ya’ find queer. Thats criticism :v . I mean palease, let the author rest in peace. RIP :3 . Your lures, ooops i could not cure. The hingy brains when stuck up, and grab hold of what rambles in the fists and gives a nimble in the tongue.. there you’re good to go. Go go! Criticise! Yosh! Nay, that i am sliding aside my homework to write this review, that would be awfully awful.. and ahm that is. Justy that me found some contractions of mine shades in goody semblance with Keats that he is such a fanatic mitigated with sense that ‘no more wonder at wonders’. And pooh what dear sorrows L ..says Keats:

‘Of all external things, they saw me not,’

Opsy, ..lol anyone out there with friends that tend to ignore you.. smash it yeah in Keatsian style. Yo! Binge it at their face. . this phrase. It’ll venge out thy pains (Y) .

Of Keats something remarkable is said ah well that struck me quirk .. ‘the “vision of Moneta” is the culminating point of Keat’s evolution.’ ‘Moneta was to him the discovered spirit of reality; her vision was the vision of necessity itself. In her, joy and pain, life and death, compassion and indifference, vision and blindness are one; she is the external abode to contraries... ’ (-extract from book). ‘He, too, is the prey to contraries.’ ‘...the quality with which saturated, the calm and various light of united contraries.’ The juxtaposition of this concept with ourselves, we the modern man struck in same strokes we feel. But he marked it the mirror of his diety, ..we summon it’s a monster lol.

Then on very essential grounds its stroked what poetry is and what poetry is today? The insipid and curing mentions of the beauty that marked in how the author works-out ‘what poetry is’ is marvel-bound. My haste here is telling me brief you and then depart to some engagement that’ll need me. And that’s none other than dinner lol. And then you see ‘a one man show’ like Hardy the author produces his notes of expression, than Ronsard, Tchehov, and a lil of criticism from Coleridge’s angle. Lol, whatelse you wanna know go grab a book bunchy moron and stop waiting for miracles of knowledge to fall on you :3 . It won’t happen, unless you get the hell of your sluggishness and procrastination.

Jumpy up!

Yo!

The book’s:

Aspects of Literature,

J. Middleton Murray

http://www.online-literature.com/george_eliot/mill_floss/9/

The Mill on the Floss e-read :P

Half a loaf- a parable

http://www.landscapesmag.com/teachers/lessonplans/Environmental%20Journal.pdf

You can find it at the above link.

Quarrel Scene :( -_-

Goody goody! a bad episode reminds of a bad episode of life then, ay literature?
~Quarrel scene in 'the mill on the floss'

Is that a review or discharge of 'motion ? o.O

Now if you believe that there's an instinct desire to be keener and be loved by nature. Its unfolding seasons and -the liberty to gawk at it for hours or fancy to hath our intermittent heart embraced by its vaults. This flick of sentiment, the flakes of my h'art so apprehend! Unannounced, the nature takes no confession.  Just a rudimentary bow as of a curious brow, suffice it whole. Today's weather (peculiarly) ascended those stuffed apertures, and recommendation to a read just as ideal to time.. slammed the vigor with a thud. Our teacher, today suggested a short-story titled "The Pedestrian" by Ray Bradbury. The protagonist sounds like a personality just another me, lol. Mead, ..Leonard Mead. Thats his name. So fond of walks. Walks along the sidewalk in those nights frosty or haughty. And just as he ~i would thumbs-up at his choice of sneakers that it may not arouse dogs with a bark~ ..just as he does so! But here if i may be allowed to get a little personal on the story.. may reminisce and score it out in words. My own experience on a loney walk :v . That day, the decorum of day was so low and riveted with my esteem and spirits that i was plunging down and dashed down -unable to hold up. Dinner hardly gulped in each loaf. And then the temperature of moods was in a row with empiricism. Credit to my sis for striking on the idea for going out for ice-cream. 'Cause i might have devoured myself if action of state were to be otherwise.. maybe like the sphinx of Oedipus Rex :v . Well, yeah ice-cream, though we all others protested that we were full. Afterall we just had dinner. But my nice sister always have space, or rather say a separate cabinet in her tummy ,,for ice-cream :D . By way to whisper you aside, her diet is that of a fowl :v . So, coming to point though just a personal vent to take staff of literature, okay so once i am into boots, its no distance b/w me and walk. Ah! I don't have sneakers :'( . Anyways I slouched downstairs vouching meanwhile that 'Hey, i am leaving'. Yeah they were going to join me up sooner. So, this walk was decided upon to make some space in our tummies lol. I ventured alone on the stony road trying to decipher who's more alone now? Road or me? I like the feeling -to be by yourself. Away from all the mess of life. Just as a road took to juxtaposition of straight and a turn wriggling left. Ah! i was left with the vision to turn left. And so I did.. thinking that turn was more neater that the straight lane. But at a yard's length, i sensed a foul stench and ew i just couldn't bear. This road hath a division each for a one-sided traffic. I slumped to turn to that other-sided traffic lane. And just two steps in that lane, ..-from bushes aside barked a figure at so abrupt a stand, that i was struck aghast. Frozen at that point for that minute. I didn't expected that afterall. Then i yelled and shrieked at the top of my voice calling dad- no other name. And rushed in havoc to my own lane but hey that beast, his steps roared behind me you know. I ran. Trying to run faster than a beast eh? :v Ouch, and do you know that dogs have strong smelling sense. Actually when we are in fear, a certain hormone is released in our body, and dogs can sense that.. that is why he will rush and chase after a fearful brat. And I knew this fact at that moment. But what utility knowledge comes to? Knowledge didn't saved me at that moment. And to your shock dear audience i didn't ran long, i couldn't.. 'cause i bumped into that construction-cement piled up by the road and fell blindly in that dark night.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.
Haha, don't mind these dots please. So, what happened? Well- you see there were two men on a bike ..i was totally unconcious of that. All i heard when i fell was that there was some foreign voice telling me "It's fine. All's fine." I was devastated at that moment, so i didn't understood. All i was struggling to do was to rise up and run to my home.
Ummmm.... what happened next??? Weeeellll, I don't know.. 'cause its a fiction guys. Don't take it to heart :v . Or if its not, thats not on me to dispel. So, coming back to review which i was not doing -doing in the customary standard way. The way i was doing.. is not unjustified if you demand, as a person would. The literature flicker that shade of life.. and by some shade that i found i smeared it to literature. The purpose' very much done.
Umm, what then the story of 'the pedestrian' is? Its plot? ...and blah blah blah... Then go grab it up and read on your comfy bed or chair or a stony floor ain't bad a choice either :D ... and well, not to miss Mr. and Missus to create a story outta it. Afterall, thats what literature is, in the true essence. ;)

Cheers~  

Prepared for a battle but with a few doubts

Like the story begins, plain as is.. Paulo's style.. which rumbles upon my conception as too plain to attract! And when I read his biography about 3 years ago when a teacher of mine recommended him as one of great authors of contemporary age, i was led curious into browsing his biography the very day. His religious affiliations, ah if i trust my memory now, was that he was a Jew and then an orthodox Christian. This inspiration, i was not led sparked and stirred to read him up. There was no charge. More than his spirits, his writing assembles plain notes .. may be 'cause there is nothing tragical about it or him. And the charge mostly lays in tragedy or superfluous humor. And his' is mere contemplation. As for taste, maybe that is why i feel unimpressed by him. But thumbs up for his productivity and contemplation.
So, I was reading his short-stories collection, that a friend of mine gifted me. His preface was interesting. Hehe. And now, upon this short-story "Prepared for a battle but with a few doubts". The title gives that like its going to rage a war against some ideology. Something shaken violently. Starting, 'real plain'. May be 'cause its the translation, ..that is why i can't feel the music? Then well, he comes to demonstrate the presence of physicalities about him including himself. Eh, the spear he's holding.. the illustration of words made me develop its analogy to evil spirt/ or devil in "Tom & Jerry"  show. Haha. The child-like comparative analysis of a child-like work? Now post-modernism? ...should i apply-?
He is like in a search for God. His quest. He seeks. He so speaks. But the wonderings to me seem to have little novelty. I do not know why are other fellows so thoroughly impressed by him. Or may be that my nature in being mesmerised and fascinated more in discovery (of authors and works) than in perusal? Haha. Or that am I prejudiced by my certain judgemental notions that I developed the very day i read his biography. Well, such notions easily come by. I have a good experience by that :v . Well, let me make one more point. That if the recommendation is what turns me off, then why would i read the authors as recommended of our course: 'Jane Austin', and 'Charles Dickens' -their atleast one more work-? And Now Thomas Hardy, is one more score of a bastard to make an impression.
Cool! you keep yours , i keep mine. Well, nothing's that can be done of anyways!

~So, now up to next of his short-story. Haha, I want to discover why i can't help liking him. 

Beloved by Toni Morrison

So, the initial lines proceeded up to few pages gave me the idea this is --- Ah well, but before that, i struck upon some link.. a paper's abstract contemplating and pondering on the 'red' that fumbled into frequent useage in the work. Red- danger, blood, romantic love? Just what it means? There is much figuring to be done. And it's the first time I struck upon the scheme that the author may employ colors as codes in his work. So, these points were enough to plunge me into curiosity. So, the next thing every curious person does is nay not stumble upon, but choose that for a reading. The sordid, and the dark aspect of it.. i wanted to discover it of my own discretion. So, i began reading this work: "Beloved" by Toni Morrison. The title aspires some dedication by indication or by spirits. So, the spirits are always urged into pursuing fellow beings. But I was disappointed. Not may be the negroes aspect of it; for the language of Africans, and more than that it was US, and I am toned into the habit of UK works. And then the confusion whether it was a narrator, or the character that were speaking. At some points it was hard to detect. Though to tell you, i am implanting the same tech- in my fiction work ..hehe. To a paranormal degree blending the spirit of narrator and narration.. to the point that narrator and character becomes as one, and then they part, and then they unite again. Real odd, eh? Haha. But its interesting, my fiction piece to my impression. Lol, now i am reviewing Toni's work or my own? Ok, so the click point that put me to a halt to proceed with reading was the purging romance of indiscreet sort. And thereby summed up, my brief review ends here.

If you struck up some interesting read, recommend me too. It would be a pleasure. But hey, my spirits enjoy more in the discovery of it than its perusal ! Hehe.

Cheers~

P.S
And oh, please don't mind my queer writing style.

Tess! forgiveness does not apply to the case-

Social case or intellectual one?

Thats the dialogue of Angel Clare- ..where Tess pleads for forgiveness, but man is a man. Yet more than a man, his 'idea' was broken where his soggy lil heart shrunken under the luggage of his reason- found her guilty, ..a grotesque irony it makes ma'am. The suspicion of deceit when the hope is there is like a slap to your senses. The case, yes apply to neither social nor intellectual but the culmination of hope that set hold a castle of 'ideal-image'. That 'idea' believed was now questioned in foundation? The disappointment vent  in forms as deluding it a matter of principle, social, or intellect maybe. But the hysteria, the hysteric laughter of his that follows gives the reader sight into his conduct that the 'idea' recognized hath all of a sudden come to distortion. It gives man the sentiment that he was so blind as to this. There you comes to halt in ur terms with that person or comes to halt in all kinds of ur beliefs, for hath you not cured thyself of that blindness thats diagnosed as yet of case, you're n u'll be a wreck. So, he parted with Tess as we see. And as he states "u were then one person, now u r another" ..lo! its the distortion that speaks--      
Thats so far what i've to say on my account.. in my interpretation

Addition to read list!

Read "The importance of being Earnest" by Oscar Wilde

...would rate 10/10 and a thumps up for its houmor.

ay, pluck o' thought; 'Animal Farm' !!

Just like as in “animal farm” novel, what makes the subjects subdue to the authority is a thorough conviction, a unanimous ‘convincing’ that they do not want Jones back. It leaves all doubts, all queries un-subjected; all principles prevailed, with absolute liberality in revision to be opted as deems it.. pleasureable to the office of authority.  Just solely because it all ends in one piece of inquiry “Do u want Jones back?” 
What I intend to elaborate here is that; in the events of uncertainty, a propagation (by of course means of propaganda) to a passage of certainty, you could induce a fashion of faith in your subordinates.  It’s a certainty: “Of course, they do not want Jones back”…,all else is uncertain! A deliberation by authority to look at that prospect (i-e certainty) could divert them in overlooking all else. Such is the institution of man itself. 
It is but the other day, you are aloof, you are stressed, you are bothered, your temper a house of cards. Your chief crown, I mean er skull.. a pitcher of straw, abandoning you of what might could be expected or left excepted! ‘Hope’ umm, descend away off thy bosom, that do now hath to endure the agony; oh empty! Worst dark! Ye might chose to struck it hard, er such is grief. O and may’st be intent to beat ‘t to pulp. Here the certainty odd, odd of oddest nature, subtle art! Crumpled memories, thus subconscious …” Never recreate from your memory ..-inception” …ah! wonder whereto it leads. Bespoke my dear, the despair “miserables must depart”.  Period. That’s the certainty. This thus being certainty, governs and prevails all offices of decisiveness . Invincible, autonomous, it plays its part.
Ay, well! 'certainty' could be a dangerous tool sometimes.. !!

Great Expectations, ch# 4

Awww...poor lil pip. Mr. Hubble, Mr. Wopsle, and Uncle Pumblechook; the company of an awful lot of elderly, with all authority to govern what speech must endeavor to be promulgated by the meagre rustle of their tongues on this festive; a lil gathering on christmas. It occasions that they avails it to the fullest of their advantage ....and oh my lil pip! what recital of misdemeanors he is to be charged with, and the listing of what horrid offences the young ones, the lil one here (presently in the comopany) do. Mrs. Joe, his sister, nay not lag in ensuring of offenses of a spoiled kiddo. Mrs.Hubble, O well, sympathizing with her position in bringing him up by hand. Buahaha, and guess what! Dear Mr. Joe with scarcely any power on his speech; compassionately offers a lil more gravy with every hypothetical remark put on his person. The party continues with this of their's natural course (making remarks), with a warrant to dispose off another, the next moment they are urged! Now see....remark 1, he poured a lil gravy to his bowl, mention 2, he poured some more, comment: the third time, and oh! gravy some more. pip: "Joe offered me a bit more gravy, which i was afraid to take". Good gracious! i wonder if he is going to get him all soaked up in gravy like umm, a rain of gravy :3 .  Hahaha and believe me, how comically the boy pip's posture has been described in the company. O boy! its quite entertaining. A few bit of lines though they are.

Overall, Charles Dickens has a manner of sobriety about his writing, a composed, n taut; and marvel to resort in the reader's senses. Do apprehend! he writes beautifully indeed. For what i draw here as my personal observation about his manner; i must add, could possibly might not be devoid of the element of partiality. So, hey buddy...extract ur own judgements. ;)

All times' incredible reads; classics rocks (Y) ;)

Chapter 4, "Great Expectations"

by "Charles Dickens"

"Paladin" by "Sally Slater"

Guys, check out this one. I bet, you'll love it. A genre of fantasy and adventure, with an incredible expression that'll pull you straight into the thrilling plotting and fixating your senses in all concentration to the story. You watched the movie "the brave" right. I reckon, it was interesting. Haha, can you believe...the characters of this story "Paladin" summoned the figures of same countenance to my fancies, as the one you find commendable in that movie. The reason i believe, is because both stories initiate in the same manner i-e a lady of royal class who classifies more as to fascinate and be: the boldness of a knight and fight, than playing a Damsel in distress; and indulge in matrimonial urgencies. So it was hard reading the story in beginning with animated characters, for i rejoice more at the realism. So, i replaced the roles with the anthropoid movie actors; thus matter sorted, and joy turned two-folds. The read became more interesting now.

Aye, let me tell you dears..."paladin" means "a knight of renowned heroism and chivalry". As the story puts it, the paladins must mentor their trainees, who are chosen by the consequent contest of candidates from the north, the south, and east, and the west. All, the rich or the poor, are allowed to take part in the contest. Nay, not all ...the daughter of the duke of haywood "Miss Samantha" was not allowed. Hahaha, so here comes the sub-theme of gender-bender (the one i used to quite enjoy in the far-east movies). She take part in the contest as "Sam" a lad, and wao! wins it through. Aish! and of all paladins, must she be trained by "Tristan Lyons" a handsome, and a whilrwind and gallantry man; who was the reason of why she was where she was. The day he saved her was the last day she was ever weak. The very next day she picked up the sword. 

The inhabiting demons in the human world; that is what the paladins, their superiors, and the trainees fight against. They are the 'defending force' against the cruel plottings of demons. ...Much is yet to come in the story. A twist of half-demon as a trainee ...and whatelse!

Pick it up as your next read and you won't regret ;) .

Cheers!

Status update:-

ah! shouldn't have expected it to be all sublime sort...! indeed, elements of disgusted sort...; the story is not devoid of 'em -_-

Animal Farm

Not the type i would usually like to read, but all in all it was a good read. If you are looking for an allegorical, political satire; then "Animal Farm" is the right choice for you. It is written by George Orwell, pseudonym; "Eric Arthur Blair" in 1945.

The story is based on a Manor farm; run under the supervision of Jones, a heavy drunkard. An uproar begins to rise among the animals of the farm, inspired and provoked by an old white boar, Major. Left unattended, and not cautious to be fed in time... ;the neglect added to the rebellion stirred. The movement of rebellion was succeeded by the expulsion of Jones, as the animals now stand united against human rule. Since Old major departed from this world, the two pigs "Snowball", and "Napoleon" assumed leadership to guide and direct the animals. Seven commandments were written on the wall of barn as to be the essential principles that would frame their lives.

Everyone agreed to it. The movement of educating started in the farm i-e everyone should learn to read and write. But save few, most of them couldn't even develop command on the 26 alphabets of English. Pigs, a generally acknowledged intelligent class would do the paper work and ministration, while other animals assumed the role of labor work. An interesting character among many other distinctives, was "Boxer", a horse, who always maintained the motto of "I'll work harder". Another interesting character was his friend "Benjamin", a cynical donkey who was heedless as to the political matters taking place, or to any matters at all. He would show no interest. But as the story proceeds we find that he is an intelligent character. He could read as well as any other pig. But he does nothing, when the farm animals tread to being struck by naivety in a havoc crisis. 

The farm was renamed as "Animal Farm", and the neighboring farms soon began to discern threat, lest the rebellious spirit might overwhelm their animals too. The neighboring farmers assumed that the Animal farm will soon be struck with disorder and barbarianism, because of no human charge. But the farm was taking its pace on its own, managing things themselves. They would plough the fields, sow the seeds, and harvest the crops; directed by Snowball. And do all other things too. They would held meetings to vote on the matters, have ceremonies, and sing their anthem "The Beasts of England" to remain spirited and zealous. And it was obliged to learn the seven commandments by heart. But since, most animals couldn't learn it; it was reduced to a single phrase for convenience of learning, and i-e "Four legs good, Two legs bad". Haha, sheep loved the maxim too much, that they would keep braying it every now and then. 

hahaha, and often during snowball debates' in meetings :P

Then one day, Snowball came forward with the idea of building a windmill, which will reduce the labor to huge degrees. They will then have to work just three days a week, because windmill will introduce electricity in the farm; thus increasing the capacity to employ machinery to use and reducing labor force. 

But there was a little twist in the story! Snowball's leadership was overthrown by the aggressive Napoleon and had made him run away from farm. From then on, he was never seen again. All animals were shocked at this sudden dismissal of Snowball, who even was a leading role when Jones came back to regain his farm. Snowball and the animals put Jones and men of his league, to be again chased out of the farm. Coming back to point, the animals shock and stir was dismissed by Napoleon's growling dogs (whom he reared in secrecy). From thence on, his rule began.

He brought about certain variations in the farm. The meetings were replaced by conferences led by only pigs to decide on the matters. Pigs were sort of becoming a privileged class. A totalitarian could be observed in the scenario, as the story proceeds. Obedience must be obliged, or else Napoleon certainly has a way to straighten matters with his ferocious dogs or Squealer, a pig who is Napoleon's minister of propaganda. Silence prevails among animals at moments of uproar, by the service of his dogs, or by  the convincing Squealer who would dwell upon the remark: "Do you want Jones to return?" Of course everyone was certain on that query. Of course, they do not want him back. A certainty thus resorted leaves all inner conflicts doomed.

Napoleon's picture

Napoleon's picture was painted on the wall of the barn in his honor.
The windmill project was rejected, but reintroduced with attribution to Napoleon as the original initiator of the idea; and Snowball being the one who stole his idea. The work began. But one night, half-done windmill was struck by storm and destroyed. Napoleon, a clever pig, ascribed it to the doing of Snowball; and the naive animals believed it to be so.

Boxer, working for windmill

 





Ah! here my favorite character, Boxer; who assumes that hard work is a key for every solution.
Thus his motto, now a little modified, "I will work harder. Napoleon is always right". Well, i guess he is a loyal and faithful type. Go! Go! Boxer!



But what clever plot! Somehow it seemed as though the farm had grown richer without making the animals themselves any richer — except, of course, for the pigs and the dogs. The food, and crop were reserved and set aside for the pigs; for they n their brains were to be a cherished treasure to keep Jones away. Well, that is how Squealer convinces the animals. Always! And of course they do not want Jones back. Always!

Windmill, after struck by Snowball's revenge, as is conceived so; was reconstructed as a sign to prove to Snowball that he didn't succeed in his mission, and never will. Through the summers and winters, hunger and pain; they would work hard to reconstruct it, with also due labor done on regular basis to plough and harvest. They now encounter hunger pangs more frequently; and do more hard labor than in Jone's time, but they asserted we are doing this for ourselves and not for ruling human class. This put a period to any doubts that may rise! Ah! and the cynical donkey, Benjamin, whenever asked of his opinion on the current affair would utter his same skeptical opinion (as illustrated below):

Windmill or no windmill, life will go on as it always had; and that is--badly!

But unfortunate they were, there windmill was again blown away, but this time by human attack. Animals outraged at the spectacle of having their hard work of years blown away in a second, chased the humans like hysterical beasts....some shot down dead, some injured, but they chased them away! Boxer was injured in the leg, many animals shot dead. And the one alive were struck by the heavy grieve of lost companions.

Another spectacle of numerous deaths was observed at the farm when it was declared that many inhabitants of Animal Farm were in league with Snowball. Many came forward and confessed, and were executed immediately. The animals left, wondered that whether they should grieve at the companions lost, or should they grieve that their own companions deceived them!

Independent of all grieves it was commanded that, yet again the windmill construction will be started; to prove the humans that they are not defeated by any means! And the labor started...

Pigs Domination

Pigs empowered by power, held the domination; while the other animals do all the labor. Observing luxuries in their lives--the totalitarian was revealing itself to the scene. They would even amend the commandments to restore their acts to be observed in obliging manner, and nothing discrepancy at notice should be thus!

Amending the commandments

They were holding on to luxuries, yet others were starving to death.. !!

Ah! and Boxer was nearing his retirement. One day he collapsed during work and was sent off to the veterinary doctor by Napoleon. Well, that was what he said. But Benjamin read the label on the van, and realized he was being sent to the knackers. He and other animals tried to get Boxer back, but in vain. Squealer later dismissed the doubt by tricking them into believing that the veterinary doctor bought the car from a knacker, and the van is yet to be painted.

Yet another day, a new shock was bare. The pigs were found walking on two legs, and in men's clothings. Shock! Shock! Shock! ....Utterly!, humanly! Amended, thus another principle.....,

Another notion should be at notice, dears! The final and last amendment;....all commandments were reduced to this one phrase: "All animals are equal, but some are more equal than others".  Ah! depicts a nature universal, the nature of exploitation!

And all the while in the story, we observe that Napoleon is soon going to develop terms with one of the neighboring farms; and he does! He maintained some trade with Foxwood and Pinchfield via Whymper, a man hired by Napoleon as a liaison between Animal farm and human society. Yet there was a rift between animal farm and human society, posing a threat to one another every now and then. It was even, once decided that the spirit of rebellion should be propagated to other farms too, to free all animals of human jurisdiction and their rule. Birds were sent far off the fence for this purpose, and some stratagems were employed! But we see a quite different scenario, as the story approaches its end. Dozens of men, and dozens pigs all dining on the same table. Having a chit-chat and playing cards! We observe them as equals. Clinking their glasses of beers, and cheering for the new air of reconciliation between the humans and the animals. Men admired their administration, and their clever plotting of keeping lower animals subservient. Ah! and confessed that they have lower animals and we have classes to subdue...All the same, all alike!! We are, the governing bodies in the same league.

The animals outside stirred by scent of meal prepared in the farm house, peeped through the window to get a glimpse of what might have been going on. And what they found,...they found their doom!

And the novel ends with this remarkable closing line:

A sunrise on the veld

One of the short stories by Doris Lessing. The title of this story corresponds with the plot chosen by the writer, for the location of the story is a veld: a pasture close by a kid's house. This kid is the central figure that leads the whole story from its beginning to its end. A wandering pulse, an active soul, and an in-charge of his own persona. We get the first glimpse of his confident character when he says: "Even my brain-even that! I can control every part of myself". What joy, what ecstasy, could one derive by such amiable ownership, a human knows it all well. We all know. I must say, the writer has chosen a wittier theme, the theme of ownership, ownership towards oneself. When life is a composition of set of amiable events, our esteem naturally boosts up, and favor our sentiments an air of felicity, our measurement an upgrade, and our courage and daring confidence ten-folds, thus fancy us a ripe feat over the label of life. Very much in a degree,..we call it eternity.  Eternity, is basically a label for self-sustaining phenomenon, and all that is visible when falls to the principles of our status of boosters, we deem it eternal: for self-sustaining they are.

The story is brief and amusing. A boy in his fifteen, an early morning riser, strolls out to the woods half past four every morning, cautious of keeping his parents unaware. A gun aside, tip toed he goes to woods at such chilly hour. The neighboring dogs do howl at his cunning scheme, but by then he is already hundred yards away. Such a crafty lad. Ah! and one of his another self-owning ability. To justify such, he went straight three nights without sleep and still not giving any sign of feeling sore or fatigue. And on his morning strolls, he would say:" I could walk all day, and never tire". Seriously! what a confidence! Way to go, man...keep it up. On his visits to the pastures, he would enjoy the nature and absorb it in. Then he would play with it. In great leaping strides, like a duiker; yelling wild and breathing in the joy of living, and superfluity of youth, fancy he his courageous infinity. And so is gun aside, as if to hunt all wilderness and tame it. The writer intends to present a sheer picture of ultimate confidence. Says he: "There is nothing he couldn't do, nothing!"...

Tush! but how long could it last? Nature under the control of a mortal? Ay, nature's no slave. We may be gamblers, but nature's a sheer game. Its always one step ahead of us. How long could you mortify , rectify, petrify it under your crafty influence? All is but utter fancies; the mutual one held, get to be labeled a custom : a primary course to taste the fruit of possession, a success...casually trimmed with art of joy: an element of courage.

Sooner, very soon, patches of dismay were to hold his expressions, and to have him taste mortality of all that is. Out of all amiable sounds, a scream was heard. What an unnerving guise he beheld! On approaching, convulsively jerking motion was observed at distance...what was it? An animal? Yes, a buck it was. A swelling feeling of rage, misery, and protest overwhelmed him; and beheld him a little defiant in his introspection. A blend of rage, misery, and protest, eh? Such is, when a range of insanity plunges in! A miserable state, a rejection taking form to anguish, a despair posing threat..thus a misery, and to defy and protest by whatever means, against what is to overwhelm....all the way, psychologically it defines a course to insanity, rejection to what comes out of custom, out of nature's play. But should i add.... "sane is no wisdom, my friend". So, he ventured out beguiled to feel customary to the thought. Says he: "why should i interfere? All over the bush things like this happen; they happen all the time; this is how life goes on, by living things dying in anguish." Down to earth, sanity it is! Followed by another dismal expression, he says: "I can't stop it. I can't stop it. There is nothing i can do."...An approval it is, of how much is in our hands, what is in our hands!

A buck infront of his very eyes, died. It pulled him into a heavy sensation, a sensation of degree of liability to be bothered about. And so does the degree of liberty needs to be redefined.

Feeling offended by his lately fabricated stance, and feeling heavy with such sensations, he headed back home. But to put up till tomorrow, something worth muse. May be, he learned something new!

Paradise Lost

 

An epic poem, by the poet John Milton procures the heart of many; yet receiving heated debate on its theological subject-matter, reconciles the critics to acknowledge it all the same. Myself convinced, at its grandeur composition and persistency in art, an art finery then subjected to seclusion: worldy, and by forever adieu to sight, treading the path to probing the existence within. Mundane, celestial, all sorted out well, till occupied enough to preach the sight sighed; and pose it exposed to the world to muse at what persihed and is the peril of the esteemed author. Further the blindness, a seclusion of ultimate nature, must have been the colossal element to feed the chaos within, and later wards the hinges of the portal within and with-out.

To add, there is an element of rebellion to be observed in the feverish lust of words. The satan, the protagonist, itself advocates the point. He was a paragon of rebellion, and therefore adds to the churning up, burning up vibes in the reader; a reflection that the poet maintains. The poet must have been stirred up thoroughly, so as granting a franchise to oneself as to demean, then feign, then reign, palying all sort of pokers i must say.

Says he:
Vain wisdom all, and false Philosophy:
Yet with a pleasing sorcery could charm
Pain for a while or anguish, and excite
Fallicious hope, or arm th'obdured breast
With stubborn patience as with triple steel.

How interestingly had he summed up the philosophy of patience above with a bit demeaning tendency. He had plunged unto the futility of cherished vain, and our pretensions which we may rank the ten-folds the thorough intelligence. Lame is all hope in its vile sorcery, which we own by the art of procured wisdom, holds naught but the faculty of stubborness.

p.s
a little criticism with authority none, but a little muse!

~by and by, unto Book II~