Confession#7-Eden Without Eve

Perhaps likening New Jersey to Eden is a bit ridiculous. In fact, many might assume that I’m simply being sarcastic. Honestly though, whenever I go on vacation to Wildwood Crest and Cape May, New Jersey, I feel as though I am returning to a home, from which I’ve long since been evicted. I spend each day on the beach, swimming, reading, and relaxing. At night, I dine at the most luxurious restaurants New Jersey can offer. They are surprisingly impressive for all the New Jersey stigmas. Maybe I’ll tell you more about them as the week progresses.

My family and I arrived today after a six hour journey south. Even though I did nothing more than sit in the backseat of a car and doze off when I could, I am exhausted. Regardless, my parents and I made an effort to walk the beach. It’s a sight we see only once a year. And as a visual and creative mind, I consider it a helluva sight. Most people see the water, the sand, and the sky above. But how few notice the individual bubbles, each lit by a soft ray of the sun, bouncing along the surface of the water only to pop against the dark, speckled side of the shore?

I was so excited to see the ocean churn and swirl, hear the waves thunder, smell the salt in the air, and taste it on my lips. Yet, my thoughts turned sour when I realized I had no one to share that moment with. I watched my parents. My father grew excessively affectionate with my mother: a lingering look, an extra kiss, horribly annoying chatter in the voice of a stubborn toddler. That last one must be some sort of fetish or source of foreplay (Barf! Please kill me). I suspect the same sort of excitement came over him, but I doubt he understood it, let alone experienced it as I did. To him, it must be a whimsical sensation that he welcomes without questioning. For me, it is something I labor over with a dozen whirring thoughts.

Where’s my girl? I think. Where’s my love? Whom can I share these wonderful moments with?

Well, look around. There are a ton of lovely-looking ladies. And since bikinis are basically just lingerie, I can clearly see whom I’m attracted to. But…come on…you know me by now. Would I ever approach a girl? No. If I did, then what? I want a relationship, not a fling. What are the odds that I’ll meet someone who will be close enough to me in order to maintain a healthy relationship? Pretty slim I would think.

Ironically, where did my thoughts go next? Diana. She did text me at 2 am last night. Of course, I was asleep and of course, she didn’t respond after I wrote her a message in the morning. Maybe she’ll respond tomorrow. Maybe.

I wish she was here. I think about how much she and I would struggle to communicate. I think about how awkward she would feel around my parents. I think about all the little comments my family could make. Frankly, I don’t care. I just want to hold her hand on the beach and cuddle with her at night. :/

Confession#6-Loneliness

It should be no surprise that I am lonely. I’m sure that I have come right out and said I’m lonely. But if it isn’t clear, know that I have restricted my number of posts, especially these confessions because I don’t want to come across as that lonely guy whom everyone yells at, saying, “Will you just shut up?! We get it. You’re lonely. Do something about it, why don’t you?” But, this blog is more for me than for you, so I guess it really doesn’t matter. Eh…fuck it.

So I came across this by Carl Jung. It’s really been hitting some chords this past week. “Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself.”

Okay. Yeah, let’s chalk some of my loneliness to depression bullshit, but…maybe the root of the problem is that I talk to no one. I’ve always thought of it as “Is there anyone I can talk to?” Can? Yes, of course. I have lots of people I can talk to. What I haven’t thought is “Is there anyone you will talk to?” Will? No.

I have loads of friends. Sure. And yet, I would never discuss this with anyone. Not even my family. Feeling special, aren’t you my lovely readers? You know me better than all my closest friends and relatives.

I suppose it makes sense now why the number one rule is to talk to someone if you need to. However, I’m in such a habit of toughing it out. Yeah, I’ll feel like shit sometimes because there are things I want and need to say, but have no one to tell them to. But I’ll live. That’s always my thought. I’ll live. Just sing a sad song and mess around on the guitar a little. You’ll get over it eventually.


And yet, I don’t get over it.

Instead of talking to someone, I talk to myself. Well, I guess I’m someone. But it’s not the same. Oh, and I write. I write here on my blog and I write novels. It’s all because I’m lonely, isn’t it? I’ve always said to myself, “I listen too much and talk too little. Now all I can do is write.”

How do I talk? Someone tell me. How do I converse with people? How do I speak my mind without making things weird?

Jon Snow Rumors

Today Kit Harington was spotted in Belfast, the filming site for Castle Black. As you can see from the picture, he has a man bun, which I’m sure can unfurl into the typical Jon Snow hair. Hmmm…this is awfully peculiar considering the fact that filming for season 6 of Game of Thrones is starting around this time. Hmm….Embedded image permalink

Novella Excerpt

I haven’t yet published my second novel, but I’m currently editing my novella and I thought I would give you an excerpt. Here’s a little taste:

“Surrealism has faced a bit of a decline. There aren’t too many Dali’s wandering around with minds as curled and twisted as their Hungarian mustaches. People obsess over the meaningless expanses of logical and linear, colored shapes, perhaps contrasted by the occasional squiggle or careless splotch. Patting themselves on the back, these misinformed people dub their art a visual language of geometry meant to communicate the world’s crippling anxiety and fixation on the rapid development of technology. Art. I might call it deliberate befuddlement or a pleasing assortment of lines and parallelograms and triangles. Pleasing. Much like a painted landscape, the sight is pleasing. But what does it say? More often than not, nothing. That’s a square. That is not a growing sense of isolation birthed by the ever expanding world simultaneously shrinking in on itself by way of phones and Internet. That’s a square.”

How Religion Spread

Here’s an interesting video that I thought I’d share.

To me, it’s fascinating that religion spreads around like some disease. I know that has some negative connotations, but I merely mean to say that religion travels where people travel. Over time, it experiences fluctuations in different regions as places evolve and react to various influences.

And, if I’m going to play the angry atheist, then I will ask this: how can anyone believe their religion is the correct religion? Christianity seems to be dominant now, but it wasn’t in the past. It wasn’t even the first religion. Its origin, Judaism, wasn’t the first religion either. Hinduism was first.

But being first and being most popular aside, notice the incredible surge in Islam. Sure, Islam kept its hold on most of the lands it affected, however Christianity then took over as the dominant religion. Its influence spread to cover almost the entirety of the Americas. At first, Muslims must have said, “Look how popular Islam has become. Surely it is the true religion.” Afterwards, though…And that doesn’t mean that Christianity should say their religion is true. My guess is that sooner or later Atheism will dominate. Not for a while, but eventually.

Book Review: Lolita

This is easily one of my favorite books. I’m sorry, but I have barely any complaints. To quote John Updike, “Nabokov writes prose the only way it should be written: ecstatically.” Honestly, I would’ve just stopped at “written.” Before I give a more thorough review, I must preface by saying that you need to read this novel. You owe it to yourself.

Gosh, where do I begin? Let me do a short summary for those of you who don’t know what Lolita is about. Lolita is about a man named Humbert Humbert who has a predilection for young girls, which he calls nymphets. As you might have guessed, Lolita is the name of one such nymphet, with whom Humbert can’t help but to fall in love. Oh yes, it’s a very controversial subject. But I swear, Nabokov makes you love how bad it is.

How? Well, you know how English teachers are always blabbing about a writer’s “voice?” More often than not, it’s quite hard to pin down. Sure, each writer has a distinct voice, but usually it’s not so distinct as to be noticeable. Only rarely do you stop in the middle of reading and say, “Damn, how bout that voice?” I’ll give you the opening lines and you’ll see what I mean.

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta. She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Did she have a precursor? She did, indeed she did. In point of fact, there might have been no Lolita at all had I not loved, one summer, an initial girl-child. In a princedom by the sea. Oh when? About as many years before Lolita was born as my age was that summer. You can always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, exhibit number one is what the seraphs, the misinformed, simple, noble-winged seraphs, envied. Look at this tangle of thorns.”

You can hear the voice. Indeed, it is a “fancy prose style.” However, it is not just a snobby, overly intellectual sort of voice. It is the voice of a maniac. That is not to say that Humbert is a maniac. He is not insane, just driven insane by Lolita. Note the varying sentence structure. Incredible. One moment you are given a long, complex string of words and the next moment you are given a conversational fragment. The diction, the attention to sound. Oh, it’s all so perfect.

There are other beautiful things happening in this opening. You see how desperately obsessed Humbert is with Lolita, so obsessed that even her name drives him mad. You see Humbert’s recognition that this is all “sin,” suggesting perhaps a bit of guilt. You see that Humbert has a strong narrative self-consciousness in the phrase “ladies and gentleman of the jury.” Oh, and uh…he’s a murderer?

As with any work of literature, the key is focusing on the characters. Nabokov does a fantastic job of this by showing you nearly each and every one of Humbert’s thoughts. You see how he changes, moment by moment. And what he doesn’t show is quite deliberate. Humbert will often leave important thoughts out for use later in the story, or he will leave you wondering and simply say that the thought is a matter for another story. Ooh, Humbert, you tease.

And don’t forget about Lolita. Her name is the title. Clearly, her character is of utmost importance. So much time is spent talking about her, her looks, her mannerisms, her comings and goings. However, unlike Humbert, we rarely see what she is thinking. Undoubtedly, she goes through character changes, but they’re really such mysteries to the reader. At times, she seems so innocent, making Humbert look like an awful, sinful lecher. Other times, she seems much like a temptress goading Humbert on to make his move. As a result, we as the reader, hate her, love her, admire her, and are disgusted by her. But surely, she is always interesting.

One thing people might be turned off by is the fact that Humbert often speaks in French. The majority of the text is in English, but there are French expressions sprinkled throughout. It can be annoying, but it certainly adds to Humbert’s snotty, intellectual characterization. Get over it.

Plot-wise, the pace can drag on in parts and speed up in others. Sometimes it seems like all you’re doing is listening to Humbert talk on and on about how lovely Lolita looks. Personally, I find that just as interesting as the quicker-paced parts. Besides, you need to change things up every now and then. You can’t cruise at the same speed for the entire book.

Rating: 9.7/10

This is one of the greatest works of all time. Regardless of how much time has elapsed since its publication, Lolita remains just as readable. Also, it isn’t too long. Lolita is roughly 300 pages. That’s a whole lot better than reading another classic, War and Peace, which is 1200 pages long.

Tolkien 2.0

What made Tolkien amazing? Well, a ton of things. One reason: he made his own languages.

I speak a language and I study a foreign language. Why can’t I do that? It’s a helluva lot of work, but still…

Look. I want to make a fantasy epic. I want to make the next Lord of the Rings, the next Song of Ice and Fire, the next Kingkiller Chronicle. I want to be one of the greats. But…I should be a better, more mature writer when I do start writing that epic. I’ve got time. All my novels now? They’re warm-ups.

Even so, when that fated day comes, when I finally do sit down to write the greatest fantasy work of my generation, I want to be prepared. I pledge to work on this language. It will never be complete, surely. I don’t even know the English language in completion. But, it’ll be pretty thorough. You can be sure of that.

I will be the Tolkien 2.0.