I just finished a novel. It's Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere, a fantasy/suspense about an underground reality where the baronies and fealties still exists and danger lurks in every corner. A whole family slaughtered, except for one daughter, who seeks to avenge her family's demise. An ordinary man with a boring life, one day helps the girl, who soon leads him to the Underside in a quest to get his life back.
Spoiler Warning: If you are reading the book or plans on reading it, don't read the next paragraph.
In the end, Islington, the conniving fallen angel is defeated, and the murderers of Door's parents along with him. Door and Richard, the protagonist, learns that there is indeed a way for Richard to return to his normal life. He chooses to go back to Upper London and says his goodbyes to Door. About a week of leading a normal life, he misses the adventures from the Underside and the novel ends with a door opening with the Marquis de Carabas, calling him to the portal to the Underside.
Spoiler ends.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So... what's the meaning of my mindless babbling about a novel? Well, it's something to do with how fucking boring reality is.
I've seen so many novels, movies, graphic novels/mangas, flash animations, and other medias that has expanded my imagination to immeasurable proportions and how I envy the characters in those stories. I have seen Drama and Romances, Horror and Macabres, Action and Suspense, and a shitload more of other genres, and I envy each and everyone of them. The magic and monsters, the romance and betrayals, the clashing of realities and faiths... ARGH!!!! Just thinking of them makes me love fantasy more!
And after reading or watching these medias, I return to reality...
And thats it. The magic is gone, the monsters turned to tabloid headlines, the hot fantasy chicks turns into a hot chick that doesn't even know you exist. The reality of superiority, money, death, and boredom kills the fantasy and we go through our everyday lives, living the same day all over again.
And again...
And yet again...
Sum it up? Reality sucks hard. I'd prefer living a dream than living in a boring, boring shithole you call reality.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Prose.
He is a guy.
He is a 17.
He is a normal guy born of a poor-turned-upper-class family.
He is easy to talk to, confident, happy-go lucky, handsome, and pious.
He is insane, wild, sadistic, depressed, and interested in the occult.
He is loved by most and favored by many.
He is loathed by "friends" and betrayed by all.
He is romantic and sweet.
He is single and perverted.
He is deep, smart, and philosophically and theologically intellectual.
He is shallow, a high school drop out, and an ignoramus
He is not one, but two.
But They are one.
He is a 17.
He is a normal guy born of a poor-turned-upper-class family.
He is easy to talk to, confident, happy-go lucky, handsome, and pious.
He is insane, wild, sadistic, depressed, and interested in the occult.
He is loved by most and favored by many.
He is loathed by "friends" and betrayed by all.
He is romantic and sweet.
He is single and perverted.
He is deep, smart, and philosophically and theologically intellectual.
He is shallow, a high school drop out, and an ignoramus
He is not one, but two.
But They are one.
Irritating. Just damn Irritating.
Recently, this past weeks I've been more depressed and irritable...
...And that's it. I'm just fucking irritated.
I ask myself why, but I can't explain. And when I ask myself things I should be happy for, I don't have any either...
I hate because I care, and sometimes I just don't want to care anymore. But no matter what, I still care (Damn me for being the ever helpful, goody-goody type). But why do I care so much for even people that can't give anything back to me? For no apparent human reason, I care. And people are taking advantage of me because of that and I still don't stop caring.
I also love making plans. I like to plan a meeting, a gig, a job, a building, or anything, but nothing just seems to work out. According to Al Hollingsworth, a successful entrepreneur, people fail for three reasons: a) They don't have a plan, b) they don't stick with the plan or c) they move too slow.
But If I may, I would like to add that people fail for one more major problem: People of higher authority and/or power destroys the plan. It can be a parent, an official, or even a spirit or maybe even God, but surely, someone is there to fuck up the plan.
And what can we do about it?
Nada
Zero
NONE.
Unless you can disobey or kill that higher power, your plan is on a one way trip to hell.
...And that's it. I'm just fucking irritated.
I ask myself why, but I can't explain. And when I ask myself things I should be happy for, I don't have any either...
I hate because I care, and sometimes I just don't want to care anymore. But no matter what, I still care (Damn me for being the ever helpful, goody-goody type). But why do I care so much for even people that can't give anything back to me? For no apparent human reason, I care. And people are taking advantage of me because of that and I still don't stop caring.
I also love making plans. I like to plan a meeting, a gig, a job, a building, or anything, but nothing just seems to work out. According to Al Hollingsworth, a successful entrepreneur, people fail for three reasons: a) They don't have a plan, b) they don't stick with the plan or c) they move too slow.
But If I may, I would like to add that people fail for one more major problem: People of higher authority and/or power destroys the plan. It can be a parent, an official, or even a spirit or maybe even God, but surely, someone is there to fuck up the plan.
And what can we do about it?
Nada
Zero
NONE.
Unless you can disobey or kill that higher power, your plan is on a one way trip to hell.
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