Saturday, December 24, 2005
/ 10:37 PM
Heyhey! Am back to blog.. Hmm my previous post again moody ritez.. Haix but dun worry ppl.. If u're concerned abt me, I'll have u know that I'm da bu si one.. Which is translated as beat no die.. Hehez.. For this post, I'm recommending another book! Coz it's the hols so I read more.. Homework all that throw one side one larh.. Muahaha ;P This book is entitled Ash Wednesday by Ethan Hawk.. Oh yes, it's that actor! He's an actor cum writer.. In Ash Wednesday, it's stated he has written two books(the other's entitled The Hottest State).. Ethan Hawk acted in Before Sunset and also Before Sunrise, and I'm not sure which others he acted in.. Anywayz, his movie Before Sunset seems to take the same form as Ash Wednesday.. You see, there's no specific story plot that has been planned out, and so the happenings in the book just happen as though in everyday life. Just one string of happenings in other words.. But the happenings have their significance, and at the same time, general feelings abt certain life issues are narrated.. Dun wanna nag and nag lah.. Hahah.. Let's move on to an extract I particularly liked! It's interesting I swear! =_= Trying too hard to sound convincing.. Lolz
Ok, this book is generally abt a guy and a girl who had led pretty messed up lives in their early years.. This guy then wants to marry this girl when she gets pregnant with his child.. To them, it's like trying to have a new start with the marriage and the baby, but as expected, that presented obstacles they had to overcome as well..
_________________________________________________________
(For this extract, the guy visits his priest to ask if he will perform the wedding ceremony for him and the girl.. Quite funny really ^^)
"I'm sorry to trouble you," I said, holding my hands behind my back so as to not appear uncenterd.
"Are you?" he said, extremely loud. He must've gotten hard of hearing.
"No, I guess not that sorry," I smiled. Christy was outside in the car with the cat. They were listening to the radio and waiting for me.
"Introduce yourself!" he shouted.
"You want to know my name?" I asked, kind of devasted that he didn't recognize me. You like to think you're memorable.
"Where are you from?" His voice was so loud I'm sure everyone in the adjacent church offices could hear us.
"Originally? Or like where am I coming from recently?" I asked, hoping our conversation would assume a more private tone.
"Both!" he barked, rattling the panes of old glass in the window.
"Well, I'm originally from here."
"That's why I'm supposed to remember you."
"I thought you might."
"Hmm." He paused and fiddled at a dangling fold of skin hanging off his wrist. "And where are you coming from recently?"
"I arrived from Albany a couple days ago."
"How did you get here?"
"Pardon?" I said. My gut was sinking. I understood how old he was now. He probably wouldn't even remember me even after I told him. Saint Patrick's Holy Trinity Church of Cincinnati was a large congregation.
"How did you transport yourself from Albany, New York, to Cincinnati, Ohio?"
"I drove."
"You drove?" he responded, with a quickness that was unsettling. "What kind of car?"
" A Chevy Nova."
"What year?"
"Nineteen sixty-nine."
"What year were you born?"
"Nineteen sixty-nine."
"Uh-huh," he said, smacking his lips together, as if there were a peculiar significance to the symmetry of this information. I couldn't be sure if he was looking at me or not. He had a walleye that made him look slightly confused. on his desk was a paperweight of a horse, a large galloping stallion. Father Matthew leaned over awkwardly, picked up the heavy paperweight, and moved it across his desk childishly, as if the horse were trotting over papers and pens onto his books.
"And what do you do with yourself?" he asked, looking down at the paperweight.
"For emplyment?" I couldn't stop staring at the horse myself.
He nodded.
"I'm a sergeant in the U.S. Armed Forces."
"Marines?" His eyes peeked up hopefully.
"No, the army."
"Uh-huh." He looked back down and set the horse aside. "It's a difficult procession, the Armed Forces."
"Oh well, I'm doing pretty good." I said, shifting my weight, wishing he would ask me to sit but not wanting to presume I could.
"You are?" he asked, tilting his head with suspicion. "You're doin' pretty good, huh?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well then, God be praised." he said calmly, but with an intensity that made me want to apologize.
"So"--he cleared his throat--"your name is Jimmy Heartsock Junior, you're almost thirty years old, you're in the army, you're doing great, but still find it neccessary to drive a 1969 Chevy Nova all the way home to come and visit the priest who confirmed you."
"You recognized me!" I was touched.
"Yes, I recognize you; you always smelled like smoke. You still smell like smoke. You should quit smoking!" he shouted, in a deep gravelly rattle.
"I know I should , sir." I laughed.
.
.
.
"So, why are you here, to check on me?" he continued sarcastically. "To make sure I'm still hangin' in there?"
"No. Well"--I smiled--"I mean, that's part of it."
"I'm sure." He grinned to himself.
"I want to get married," I said clearly, looking him straight in what I was pretty sure was his good eye.
"Do you believe in God?" he asked immediatedly, in a resonant throaty voice.
I didn't answer him. I couldn't. The question was so unexpected.
"I mean, why do you want to get married in church? Is your faith part of your life? Is it part of your relationship with each other?"
"Not in any kind of spoken way, but she's pregnant--you know?" I don't know why I phrased it like that; it made us sound more pathetic than we were.
"No, I didn't know, but it's interesting nonetheless. Go on."
"Well, we want to start a family together and we want a blessing, you know? And we thought some kind of ceremony to mark it might give us some courage, you know?"
"Would you please stop saying you know? It bothers me. Assume I don't know and proceed with the information." He let out a giant cough. He was still intimidating.
.
.
.
"Are you angry, James?"
"What?" I asked. "No."
"Because I imagined that someday you might come to me, and I thought that when you did you would be very angry."
"What would I be angry about?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Your father and mother. You were a great kid, but you didn't have it easy."
"I didn't?" I asked. My eyes started burning like a scorpion had stung them.
"If my father killed himself I would be very angry," he said quietly.
"I love my dad," I said, shaking my head no. My chest started to swell, and I knew if I took another breath I was gonna cry. "Why's everybody always so mean to my dad?" I was getting a little pissed off. Whenever anybody asks me about my old man they've got this pitying glint in their eye, like I don't understand something.
"I liked your father too, Jimmy." There was a long silence as the priest decided how to move the conversation forward. He was still sitting across from me at his old desk while I nervously patted my mustache. I tried to master my feelings, collect myself, and look up to meet his gaze. As our eyes met, I risked a breath and immediatedly I began to cry. At least two or three minutes passed as I heaved and sobbed in his uncomfortable wooden chair. Like a four-year-old, stooped over in my seat, I cried so hard I lost my breath. Father Matthew never moved or reached out a hand to comfort me. He just sat there patiently.
"Can you tell me why you're crying, son?" he asked finally.
I had no idea. All I could remember thinking was how fucking exhausted I was with all my own bullshit. My lifestory held no interest for me any longer. I wanted to get married, to start clean, but memories hung on me with the weight of sprawling dead branches.
"It's just...it's just--" I had no idea what I was trying to say until I said it. "I'm so vain, you know? I can't tell you...but I am. Incredibly vain. I look at myself in the mirror all the time and it makes me sick." I cried some more, placing both hands over my face. I didn't know I could sob so hard.
"What do you see?" Father Matthew asked. "Describe it to me."
"Weakness." I said, covering my burning eyes with both hands.
"I see a strong young man sitting before me. Everybody's vain, Jim. Give yourself permission to like yourself."
He crossed his arms while we sat in silence for another moment. My head was still in my hands.
"It's all right to cry, son, it doesn't mean anything important; it's just natural." Again for a moment he was quiet. "People think when they cry that something monumental is happening. But it isn't. Emotion isn't much of anything."
I wiped my eyes, looked up, and took a long deep breath.
"If you hear one thing I say to you today," he went on, "I hope it will be this: It's all right to be angry; you have permission. It takes an awful lot of energy to keep pretending you're not."
Ok, this book is generally abt a guy and a girl who had led pretty messed up lives in their early years.. This guy then wants to marry this girl when she gets pregnant with his child.. To them, it's like trying to have a new start with the marriage and the baby, but as expected, that presented obstacles they had to overcome as well..
_________________________________________________________
(For this extract, the guy visits his priest to ask if he will perform the wedding ceremony for him and the girl.. Quite funny really ^^)
"I'm sorry to trouble you," I said, holding my hands behind my back so as to not appear uncenterd.
"Are you?" he said, extremely loud. He must've gotten hard of hearing.
"No, I guess not that sorry," I smiled. Christy was outside in the car with the cat. They were listening to the radio and waiting for me.
"Introduce yourself!" he shouted.
"You want to know my name?" I asked, kind of devasted that he didn't recognize me. You like to think you're memorable.
"Where are you from?" His voice was so loud I'm sure everyone in the adjacent church offices could hear us.
"Originally? Or like where am I coming from recently?" I asked, hoping our conversation would assume a more private tone.
"Both!" he barked, rattling the panes of old glass in the window.
"Well, I'm originally from here."
"That's why I'm supposed to remember you."
"I thought you might."
"Hmm." He paused and fiddled at a dangling fold of skin hanging off his wrist. "And where are you coming from recently?"
"I arrived from Albany a couple days ago."
"How did you get here?"
"Pardon?" I said. My gut was sinking. I understood how old he was now. He probably wouldn't even remember me even after I told him. Saint Patrick's Holy Trinity Church of Cincinnati was a large congregation.
"How did you transport yourself from Albany, New York, to Cincinnati, Ohio?"
"I drove."
"You drove?" he responded, with a quickness that was unsettling. "What kind of car?"
" A Chevy Nova."
"What year?"
"Nineteen sixty-nine."
"What year were you born?"
"Nineteen sixty-nine."
"Uh-huh," he said, smacking his lips together, as if there were a peculiar significance to the symmetry of this information. I couldn't be sure if he was looking at me or not. He had a walleye that made him look slightly confused. on his desk was a paperweight of a horse, a large galloping stallion. Father Matthew leaned over awkwardly, picked up the heavy paperweight, and moved it across his desk childishly, as if the horse were trotting over papers and pens onto his books.
"And what do you do with yourself?" he asked, looking down at the paperweight.
"For emplyment?" I couldn't stop staring at the horse myself.
He nodded.
"I'm a sergeant in the U.S. Armed Forces."
"Marines?" His eyes peeked up hopefully.
"No, the army."
"Uh-huh." He looked back down and set the horse aside. "It's a difficult procession, the Armed Forces."
"Oh well, I'm doing pretty good." I said, shifting my weight, wishing he would ask me to sit but not wanting to presume I could.
"You are?" he asked, tilting his head with suspicion. "You're doin' pretty good, huh?"
"Yes," I said.
"Well then, God be praised." he said calmly, but with an intensity that made me want to apologize.
"So"--he cleared his throat--"your name is Jimmy Heartsock Junior, you're almost thirty years old, you're in the army, you're doing great, but still find it neccessary to drive a 1969 Chevy Nova all the way home to come and visit the priest who confirmed you."
"You recognized me!" I was touched.
"Yes, I recognize you; you always smelled like smoke. You still smell like smoke. You should quit smoking!" he shouted, in a deep gravelly rattle.
"I know I should , sir." I laughed.
.
.
.
"So, why are you here, to check on me?" he continued sarcastically. "To make sure I'm still hangin' in there?"
"No. Well"--I smiled--"I mean, that's part of it."
"I'm sure." He grinned to himself.
"I want to get married," I said clearly, looking him straight in what I was pretty sure was his good eye.
"Do you believe in God?" he asked immediatedly, in a resonant throaty voice.
I didn't answer him. I couldn't. The question was so unexpected.
"I mean, why do you want to get married in church? Is your faith part of your life? Is it part of your relationship with each other?"
"Not in any kind of spoken way, but she's pregnant--you know?" I don't know why I phrased it like that; it made us sound more pathetic than we were.
"No, I didn't know, but it's interesting nonetheless. Go on."
"Well, we want to start a family together and we want a blessing, you know? And we thought some kind of ceremony to mark it might give us some courage, you know?"
"Would you please stop saying you know? It bothers me. Assume I don't know and proceed with the information." He let out a giant cough. He was still intimidating.
.
.
.
"Are you angry, James?"
"What?" I asked. "No."
"Because I imagined that someday you might come to me, and I thought that when you did you would be very angry."
"What would I be angry about?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Your father and mother. You were a great kid, but you didn't have it easy."
"I didn't?" I asked. My eyes started burning like a scorpion had stung them.
"If my father killed himself I would be very angry," he said quietly.
"I love my dad," I said, shaking my head no. My chest started to swell, and I knew if I took another breath I was gonna cry. "Why's everybody always so mean to my dad?" I was getting a little pissed off. Whenever anybody asks me about my old man they've got this pitying glint in their eye, like I don't understand something.
"I liked your father too, Jimmy." There was a long silence as the priest decided how to move the conversation forward. He was still sitting across from me at his old desk while I nervously patted my mustache. I tried to master my feelings, collect myself, and look up to meet his gaze. As our eyes met, I risked a breath and immediatedly I began to cry. At least two or three minutes passed as I heaved and sobbed in his uncomfortable wooden chair. Like a four-year-old, stooped over in my seat, I cried so hard I lost my breath. Father Matthew never moved or reached out a hand to comfort me. He just sat there patiently.
"Can you tell me why you're crying, son?" he asked finally.
I had no idea. All I could remember thinking was how fucking exhausted I was with all my own bullshit. My lifestory held no interest for me any longer. I wanted to get married, to start clean, but memories hung on me with the weight of sprawling dead branches.
"It's just...it's just--" I had no idea what I was trying to say until I said it. "I'm so vain, you know? I can't tell you...but I am. Incredibly vain. I look at myself in the mirror all the time and it makes me sick." I cried some more, placing both hands over my face. I didn't know I could sob so hard.
"What do you see?" Father Matthew asked. "Describe it to me."
"Weakness." I said, covering my burning eyes with both hands.
"I see a strong young man sitting before me. Everybody's vain, Jim. Give yourself permission to like yourself."
He crossed his arms while we sat in silence for another moment. My head was still in my hands.
"It's all right to cry, son, it doesn't mean anything important; it's just natural." Again for a moment he was quiet. "People think when they cry that something monumental is happening. But it isn't. Emotion isn't much of anything."
I wiped my eyes, looked up, and took a long deep breath.
"If you hear one thing I say to you today," he went on, "I hope it will be this: It's all right to be angry; you have permission. It takes an awful lot of energy to keep pretending you're not."
We know life's hard, truth is hard, lies are hard, they are all hard to accept when they have been
found out, and i'm rushing history homework on the Abyissian Crisis about Italy and Abyssia going into war and that the League Of Nations cannot stop this from happening, and beacuse they are formed by means to stop war and
peace-keep the countries together, they have thus failed to achieve that. I think i tend to hold a class for history instead of telling you about me, i'm basically a what subject-realted lover (humanities) and thus
I am more analytical and critical about things, and likes to study about dead people, haha. lol. it's history what can you expect and also geography, it amazes me. I really like it alot, so what have you? Again to find this answer
you need to enter into your own reality and reflect
it's amazing. amzing how people change the way of things, like how I used to hate outdoors in Band
felt it was a complete waste of time, i've acquired to like it more, i guess people change, their thereotical means and applications in life just goes on into a new direction, and see things in another perspective, i guess- it's
all in the mind. It really amazes me how these comes into action, from someone so pessimistic has changed his own view of things, and thus my friend is scoring much better, being more optimisitc and not think of his old way of suicidal
thoughts, which are pretty daunting. and thus we need to see things, in another light, another perspective and another new way, to enable us to open up our minds, and make more new things, the new way it is. 