The Runaways

I did say that I was into rock bands lately and so by chance, I stumbled into this film which was showing on HBO entitled, The Runaways.

The movie chronicles the early beginnings of the band The Runaways. It was an all girl rock band around the 70's. Learn more about the band here.

The cast was quite impressive. Well, the moment I saw Dakota Fanning's name in the roster, I immediately expected a really good film. Amazingly Kristen Stewart was with her in the film, and what's even more amazing is she seemed to have some talent up her sleeves. Maybe she's just really not cut out for girly roles.

Anyway, IMDB gave it 6.6 rating. Honestly speaking, I thought the film was good. Nothing too very impressive as all biographical film, but the cinematography and flow of the whole story for me was good and captured the feel of the decade. I really am not yet aware of the jargons and elements in film so that's generally all I can say. It held my attention for the whole length of the film and not for the wrong reasons... so there... if you want a more professional comment go to IMDB.

Oldies Rock

For as long as I can remember, I have grown up with songs from these old rock and roll music themes... During my childhood, Rock and Roll was not as loud as how they play Rock and Roll now. There were more ballads,really good guitar solos, and all the good stuffs during those times. Plus screamers and howlers were not that many. Generally, the songs then for me where more rich in harmony and sounds.

But then again, I might be wrong. You know how sometimes all your memories are just tinted with your own little biases? So, I decided to download some of those decade's well renowned bands and compare them with the newer ones... I started with Aerosmith,

then Rolling Stones,

then U2,

then I'll go on with Beatles,

Bon Jovi, and Queen... after that, I'll probably download Red Hot Chili Peppers, Sugar Ray, 3 Doors Down, The Verve, Vertical Horizon, Semisonic, Deep Blue Something... Nirvana, Incubus, the Killers, 30 Seconds to Mars (which I already have), Maroon 5 (which I think I'm still lacking some),

The Script (which I already have as well), Coldplay (whose tracks I have not completed yet),

then probably the Fray (about 3 songs in my iTunes)... although I'll just be downloading only the BEST OF collections (except for Maroon 5 and 30 Seconds to Mars)... Let's see... I might just be flooding my iTunes... Oh well. :)

ENDING

I've always been in love with short stories and I guess over the last 4 years, despite my neglect of the art of literature, my love for this particular section never went away. Here is one story I found over the internet and at that instant, I knew, this was what I wanted to specialize in.

For me, there is something very beautiful to a short story. It is the foundation of all written novel. It requires so much from it's writer for such a short piece. It is much like poetry, how to make everything coherent, complete, and consistent but still be able to keep everything short, compact and palatable to the reader. It is always a dilemma of whether to end it abruptly, to keep it open hoping readers' interest would hold your name in their mind and want more from you and your works, to keep the characters as vague as possible or let them live out clearly defined personalities and lives, or simply to just let everything roll by as you write out this little play you have in your mind.

I wish I have more time over this short break from school. Hone a little skill, and get some decent routine in my life. Everything in it's right order, like all short stories, every element in it's right place, every little detail used to it's fullest extent.

Filipino Literature Online

I should have done this a long time ago, I should have searched an index or a site that lists some if not all of the past and current Filipino short stories and gave some critiques or introductions to the works. Hope I get to read this more than the mangas I read.


Click here for the site. :)

ABANDON ALL HOPE

Rodin's Gates of Hell

At some point, when I look back to the time when I was about to enter college and decide as to what major I should take, I think I saw Rodin's Gate of Hell. I remember very clearly, I told myself, "College is where the serious stuff happens and you need to get yourself into Medicine. So abandon all hope of ever seeing yourself complete another short story, or complete your search for things like plot lines, mentors. You eliminated that in the race."

Now that I am in the Faculty of Medicine and Surgery, I see it again, more clearly now than the first time I had glimpsed it. Abandon all hope. Right now... I feel like I should, cause my sanity won't take the promise that hope brings... at some point... that hope... is what's killing me and making my suffering all the more heavy.

I may never really be able to get the meaning of the words... Abandon All Hope... and for sure I will never be able to grow anymore towards maturing anytime soon. I am not making sense... anyway... I just had to post something or else my whole reason and will would break and I'd fall into the trap of despair and I'd be thrown in further into this hell that I may have made for myself.

I finally have an idea for a story

Sucks when you have an idea for a story but have no way to write it out. My lappy crashed and is still stored up in my cabinet awaiting to be repaired. Not even sure if the repair would still be worth it.

To JK Rowling: Nicely Done

Call it the frustration or call it the emotional sap living within me, but I burst into tears after hearing JK Rowling's speech at the world premiere of Harry Potter 7 part 2. I wasn't crying while she was giving the speech because... sad to say, I am not that much of an avid Harry Potter fan. Let me clear that out - I skipped out in reading the books, for a very simple reason, my impatience with not knowing what will happen next and with reading details got the best of me and since the chapters had titles of what they contained, I skipped out on most of the other chapters and the other characters. So I gave up reading it. But the book was really good.

I remember that when the first wave of Potter madness hit, a lot of skeptics came up to do some damage to the newly rising best seller, saying that it promoted black magic and what not. Of course, in my house that talk was in the air as well, lingering there for quite sometime, but not really given that much weight as all the other arguments and problems that linger in our house. Those years were the years of controversial books so I can't really blame my parents for trying to be cautious with what their child reads. Anyway, I was still able to read some of the books in the series; those being books 1 and 3. Book 1, I hardly remember if I finished it thoroughly and then book 3 I finished in the skipping chapters method.

If my friends hear me, or read about this I am going to get a lot of sermons. Anyway, now that I think back on it... Anne Rice is an even harder read than Harry Potter.


Truth be told, I found the deeper meaning of the books in the films, it was the films that opened my eyes to the fact that this book was not some little bed time story book for kids. The take on the narration was simple, but the plot was complex. I thought it rather sneaky but intelligent. I think the best "writer" way of describing it is, JK had command over her language. She used it the simplest way she knows so that the appeal would reach even those that do not really think of reading as a leisure activity. And I applaud her for that, I can't do that. Make something simple and yet still sound intelligent and not like some teenage fan fiction writer.

So going back, I cried after JK's speech. After I told my friend, I want her life, that feeling of having done something you love or something you had poured a part of your life into, take on a life of its own and grow exponentially to touch so many people and so many hearts. That is something. I don't know if I envy her because she has made a name for herself and people will never forget her, or that she had done something so beautiful (period). I cried when I started to imagine how she must have felt crunching those last few hours, writing those last few lines, and then to finally end it. I envy her. I truly do.

I wish I'd get that someday too, to be in the same situation as when she was writing the last chapter of the Harry Potter series, maybe one day... but for now, Ms. Rowling, nicely done.

Kristin Bauer

I found out today that Kristin Bauer, Pam from True Blood, is actually into painting and that she even went to art school. That was quite unexpected. Anyway, I saw one of her paintings in http://www.perfectpictureframing.com/artistShowcase.htm and that just proved she is more than what I had thought of her, which is confined to just an actress (of course she also does well in this particular avenue). Anyway... that's it for the day... time to hit the books.

J.R.R Tolkien

Lament for Eorl the Young 

Where now is the horse and the rider? Where is the horn that was blowing?
Where is the helm and the hauberk, and the bright hair flowing?
Where is the hand on the harpstring, and the red fire glowing?
They have passed like rain on the mountain, like a wind in the meadow;
The days have gone down in the West behind the hills into shadow.
Who shall gather the smoke of the deadwood burning,
Or behold the flowing years from the Sea returning?

At Woodward's Garden by Robert Frost

A boy, presuming on his intellect,

Once showed two little monkeys in a cage

A burning-glass they could not understand

And never could be made to understand.

Words are no good: to say it was a lens

For gathering solar rays would not have helped.

But let him show them how the weapon worked.

He made the sun a pinpoint on the nose

Of the first one, then the other, till it brought

A look of puzzled dimness to their eyes

That blinking could not seem to blink away.

They stood arms laced together at the bars,

And exchanged troubled glances over life.

One put a thoughtful hand up to his nose

As if reminded--or as if perhaps

Within a million years of an idea.

He got his purple little knuckles stung.

The already known had once more been confirmed

By psychological experiment,

And that were all the finding to announce

Had the boy not presumed too close and long.

There was a sudden flash of arm, a snatch,

And the glass was the monkey's, not the boy's.

Precipitately they retired back-cage

And instituted an investigation

On their part, though without the needed insight.

They bit the glass and listened for the flavor.

They broke the handle and the binding off it.

Then none the wiser, frankly gave it up,

And having hid it in their bedding straw

Against the day of prisoners' ennui,

Came dryly forward to the bars again

To answer for themselves:

Who said it mattered

What monkeys did or didn't understand?

They might not understand a burning-glass.

They might not understand the sun itself.

It's knowing what to do with things that counts.

by Robert Frost (1936)

from: http://foundsf.org; they have a picture of the Woodward Garden Entrance... you might want to check it.

- I was somewhat in the middle of reviewing my OB book during the time that the urge to suddenly open my Robert Frost book at a random page. It might not really be what the poem was trying to say but I thought the poem meant that it did not matter whether I truly understood all the stuffs I'm cramming or trying desperately to read, it's knowing what to do with the stuff that matters most. It was a little comforting during the time. 

-Yes... I considered myself to be the monkeys and someone superior to me who flaunt their superiority to be the boy.

Kafka on Shore

I just finished reading Kafka on the Shore, one of the best reads I've ever had for ages. It really had been a long time since I last took a thick paper back book, sat, read and finished the whole thing. I did not finish it in one sitting though, it took me the whole summer to finish just this one book. I think I've lost my affinity to lengthy novels since the last novel I successfully finished was Peter Pan -- that was good too, after all, I am in love with Peter Pan and the thought of there being a real Peter Pan; anyway this particular novel needs to be talked about in another blog -- so going back, yeah, my affinity for thick, lengthy novels have dwindled down to almost nothing.

At the end of each chapter, I felt that connection to the characters, that odd experience of a metaphysical level was definitely there however underplayed it was in my life at that time... it was undeniably there. Oddly so, at first I felt that this book might not have been for me, it lacked the sheer excitement that I got from Anne Rice and her vampires and odd little action scenes. It lacked the feel of being thrown into the realities of another person's life which I got from Paulo Coelho, or that warmth and pain you feel in love from Nicolas Sparks. Yeah, I have such a small and cliched  repertoire of authors. But they are the ones I read.

I was almost to the half of the book thinking, this is not doing it for me, I can't seem to really enjoy it. Not that he wasn't good at telling his story or that the plot was a bore, I just felt like I wasn't excited, that's all. But I read on, thinking that if I always stopped reading in the middle because nothing excited me, my view of the whole thing would always be incomplete, like how I did with Pullman's The Golden Compass. So a little touch of maturity on my part (yehey for me). And true enough, the book proved to be more for me than what I first thought of it. 

I was somehow in the same situation when I read this. The same feeling like wanting to run away from something and start over somewhere else. And the story kind of grew on me, not like the feeling you get from watching strong big waves crushing against the rocks, but more like how you come to like the gentle breeze of a warm day, that neither blows through your hair or sweeps up your skirt, just a silent blow as gentle as a whisper. Anyway, my metaphor's bad so I'll put up something that helped me through that weird situation I was in. 

"Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. 

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. 

And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about." 
— Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)

Allan Popa

I still have my senior's copy of Morpo by Allan Popa and was leisurely reading it today... gosh it's too hot today. Anyway, here's one of the many good pieces in the collection.

TAGPO

Nagsalubong ang dalawang landas.
Saglit na nag-atubili.
Iwas sa kaliwa. Iwas sa kanan.
Kambal-hadlang ang pagbibigay-daan.
Nauudlot ang mga hakbang.
Magkabilang akmang
mga panaklong sa tagpo.
Pagkaraan, kapwa huminto.
Naghihintay sa udyok ng direksyon.
Iiwanan sila ng panahon

Haruki Murakami

I recently started reading Haruki Murakami. I came across this author from my best friend's sister, when she decided to sell her old books as she has already bought a "kindle". I bought all her Murakami books. I have heard the author somewhere before, I just couldn't remember where... So far I'm halfway done with his Kafka on the Shore and so far, it's a good read. The story for me somehow started quite slow and easy. I like the fact that he used such subtleties in introducing his plot twists and concentrated on the scenes that he was building in every chapter. I guess that's the genius of it. It is quite amazing how he could put out so much social issues without it coming off as offensive. anyway.. that's it for now. :)

Missing out

My summer has not been progressing as how I'd want to. I'm already halfway into my vacation and little has progressed with my art exploration, I haven't gone into learning any new violin techniques, and up until, I'm only halfway through my reading of Neil Gaiman's book. I haven't even gone swimming it just feels like summer sucks.

So You Think You Can Dance

So You Think You Can Dance does so much than just putting on a show. It does so much to educate people on dance and the diversity of it. And I love so much how they set up the show. Got me back on track with my art immersion summer. Kind of got lost while playing sims 3.

Well, here are some of my favorite.

I love Mia Michels... She makes one of the best choreographies. Just absolutely brilliant.

And I was especially captivated with Sonya's work after this.

Of the dance techniques, my favorite has always been ballroom. I had no clue of any other techniques. Now I have new favorites: Contemporary and Broadway. And I have found new respect for hip hop. I have to say, my most favorite ballroom dance has to be pasadoble. It's just overwhelmingly powerful.

Jean Hans Arp

After two lengthy reading of Tristan Tzara's take on Dada and a lengthy discussion on Dada with my best friend and with another friend of mine... I started looking up Jean Hans Arp.

I have to say... most of the artists of those time did not focus on just one art form. They explored and used different mediums which kind of says a lot about this generations artists... not that I'm belittling our generations artists because they are great and wonderful as well, or maybe I just haven't met a lot of artists who are not just writers and are not just painters but are a mesh of these different realms of art. Artists that are both poet and painter, both fictionist and musician. But maybe, it was because those were post-WWI artists and as we all know, tragedy brings inspiration. No matter how morbid it sounds, it inspires. Tragedy inspires one to write, to protest, to assess one's life; it drives people towards either self actualization or to complete utter destruction. Happiness does inspire, but for me, it does not inspire as strongly as tragedy does.

Back to Jean Hans Arp, he is a French sculptor, painter, collagist, printmaker, and poet of German birth. Although he is more known for his paintings and sculptures. He is said to be one of the founders of Dada in Zurich. But since I am more interested in his poetry and I had to read other Dada writers to get what this movement is about, -- plus, I wanted to distract myself from studying and feel like I did something I liked -- I went on to search some of his poems and then came across this particular piece: The Plain.


The title is actually really representative of the work. It was plain, simple that is which I've always liked in poems. I never really thought I'd like Dada because I'm always at my wits end trying to decipher whether they mean more than what the purport to present... but this particular piece gives me hope that maybe I'd find more pieces from Dada literature that will make me more inclined to explore this movement and eventually come to understand it.


The Plain

I was alone with a chair on a plain Which lost itself in an empty horizon. The plain was flawlessly paved. Nothing, absolutely nothing but the chair and I were there. The sky was forever blue, No sun gave life to it. An inscrutable, insensible light illuminated the infinite plain. To me this eternal day seemed to be projected -- artificially-- from a different sphere. I was never sleepy nor hungry nor thirsty, never hot nor cold. Time was only an abstruse ghost since nothing happened or changed. In me Time still lived a little This, mainly, thanks to the chair. Because of my occupation with it I did not completely lose my sense of the past. Now and then I'd hitch myself, as if I were a horse, to the chair and trot around with it, sometimes in circles, and sometimes straight ahead. I assume that I succeeded. Whether I really succeeded I do not know Since there was nothing in space By which I could have checked my movements. As I sat on the chair I pondered sadly, but not desperately, Why the core of the world exuded such black light. Jean Hans Arp Poem source: http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-plain/

So far, this makes sense...

Tristan Tzara: In art, Dada reduces everything to an initial simplicity, growing always more relative. It mingles its caprices with the chaotic wind of creation and the barbaric dances of savage tribes. It wants logic reduced to a personal minimum, while literature in its view should be primarily intended for the individual who makes it. Words have a weight of their own and lend themselves to abstract construction. The absurd has no terrors for me, for from a more exalted point of view everything in life seems absurd to me. Only the elasticity of our conventions creates a bond between disparate acts. The Beautiful and the True in art do not exist; what interests me is the intensity of a personality transposed directly, clearly into the work; the man and his vitality; the angle from which he regards the elements and in what manner he knows how to gather sensation, emotion, into a lacework of words and sentiments.

Tristan Tzara: Introduction

I have to thank my seniors - even though we aren't from the same college and they are from a Faculty that is quite far from mine, nonetheless they are my seniors from TWG and really good ones too - for taking time with my request. Although for now the first to answer my request was the one that came from the same high school that I came from.

I had come to know him quite late, from a friend, if my memory serves me right. And he had quite a reputation to his name. Anyway, I find it quite a gift that he is foremost interested in the realm that is far from what I usually like to read, which is, classical and realism. I was sure that if I would ever need a starting point into a place that is out of my comfort zone, it would be best to ask him. SO, finally... I have a good point to start from. He gave me three authors. Tristan Tzara, Andre Breton, and F.T. Marinetti.

I'll be starting with Tristan Tzara and taking it from there. :) Happy exploration to me.

For those who do not know him and his contributions like me, here is a link. :) Hope you enjoy it too. :)

On Bible Readings

I have to say this is the only time I will comment on Bible literature.

There is something so beautiful about them, on how just plainly reading them out of context of the history of the people that lived that day, the culture from which the people lived their lives, the importance and precedence they put on every event, detail, and even meanings they put on simple everyday things, and most especially, the language with which they wrote these passages, can utterly lead someone to either the wrong meaning or a superficial understanding of the idea, the event, the importance, and the beauty of the passage.

Yesterday, as I was listening to the priest explaining in his homily each detail, each meaning of each element in the story, I felt my heart move. Move not only with the message that the passage relayed --"a woman unloved, unwanted, meets Christ on the place where lovers usually met, and he tells her, I love you, even if you are a sinner, even if you are from a race that people considered dirty. I will give you life, for you have searched for it in various places and never found it." -- but also with how all these elements come together to form such a simple tale and yet be so rich.

I guess it is because the people who have written these passages have a vast knowledge and understanding of their culture, other than being inspired by the holy spirit. This is their life, their history, and though it sounds too emotional, it is the emotional attachment that we put in everyday life that makes writing it interesting and that makes these scribbles more than scribbles, but a story, a poem, a part of literature.

So I have come to realize that probably one of the reasons I cannot take my pen to write, is because I have lost that, the emotional connection with everyday, the understanding of my own culture, the meaning put in every object to make a metaphor, a metonymy. And so is born a new fire for literary enrichment.

Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps

I was definitely looking forward to watching this movie since the actors involved were of such high caliber and the trailer left something to be expected and craved for in the film. Not that I am "wall street/stock literate" nor am I a fan of stock market and how the money in the world goes round. I was particularly interested in the plot of George Gekko (Michael Douglas) stepping back into the life of his daughter and making a whole mess of things. Sounds a bit morbid but hey, it catches your interest.

In any case, the movie was moderately enjoyable for me. I have a thing for movies with a lot of dialogues. I like to see how actors add life to these dialogues, meshing up the actions they think would define their character and the way they'd deliver the lines. Things that when put together somehow gives life and interest to a an otherwise tasteless thread of words. Not that I am commenting that the dialogues were not interesting, they were, it's just that they were too jargon-ish for me. But then again that is the setting of the movie. I guess they tried hard to make the terms, the situations, the conversations as simple as they can without making the characters seem like some other person just walking by. After all would you even believe that they are people form Wall Street if they did not talk a certain way?

The plot was somewhat underplayed and had little coherent direction, could not flesh out a continuity in them, and probably, some of the parts were very predictable. I did feel like at the end of the day, I had little understanding of what happened. I felt very minimal of a build up towards a climax, not much of a clincher. I thought the film left too much to be craved for and in between, dropped quite a lot hints at something else that were not really used. I don't know. It was a fairly decent try, but not up to expectation with the story it had promised. 

For the most part, I guess it's because the cast was absolutely amazing that I kept watching until the end. Never expected Shia LaBeouf to be that good. I mean, I grew up watching "Even Stevens" and I commend him for doing such a great job of getting out of the "child star" pit that holds most child actors back from becoming recognized as adults. Although I did feel like something was wrong with how their characters were built up. I don't know, maybe motivation, maybe a sense of coherence of what they want to achieve especially with the main character.

Check out comments on IMDb - Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps.

Foxfire (film)

Yesterday was not a good day for me. It started with my Neuroanatomy exam. You see next to my want to revive my "lost" passion for the arts, my interest and love for Neuroanatomy is about the nearest to that level of passion I used to have for literature. Long story short, my test did not go well despite all my best efforts and I got let down... anyway, this is how this film comes into the picture, it was on HBO. Simply put, I watched it because it was on and it had Angelina Jolie in it. As you would already guess, I am a big fan of hers probably more because of her looks than her talent though her talent is something to be admired as well.

Anyway, on to more pressing matters and one that would actually mean something to my blog. Briefly, I would like to say that this blog is supposed to encompass different arts and well, film and script writing are on top of my "need to learn" list in order to make a good one of my own. So, finally, the film.

I have to admit that I was pretty distracted with how young Jolie looked and how it was nice to see an old movie of hers. The movie was great, I wasn't quite sure if it was a teen movie but ok... it was. The dealt a lot about teenage rebellion, finding strength for yourself, leaving your comfort zone and maturing. For me the whole flow and experience of the movie was in itself much like teenage life. I felt like nothing was falling into place and everything seemed to have just been thrown in. The film felt like it was just giving you bits and pieces of plots, not sure whether they will be elaborated on and they make you feel like they're about to give you something big about it, and it just falls. I felt like the characters were a bit poorly used and maybe the plot itself was poorly used. It just felt like it could go that extra something to make it absolutely brilliant.

The film was near to what teen rebellion would have been like during the year it went out. Reminded me a lot of how the movies and "teleseryes" of the 90's influenced me to think that maybe I was caged up and cooped up and I wasn't thinking for myself. I did not particularly liked the movie that much. At the end of the day I was left with the impression that the movie seemed to aim at nothing. It did little to provoke me to think.It did do more for my ever growing fan mania over Angelina... but anyway... that's all I have to say about this film.

I did not like the lines that much nor the way the screen adaptation went. I am not so sure however if that would have been the fault of the screen writers or the director. Maybe I should start understanding the processes and nitty grittys of film making to make a solid comment on them. After all, I am here to learn about the techniques behind these arts. :) Here's a comment on the film which describes it in a more detailed and analytical manner, I guess... http://www.proyouthpages.com/foxfire.html. The blogger said it was based on a book... might as well find it during the summer... and start reading.

The Forbidden Brides of the Faceless Slaves in the Nameless House of the Night of Dread Desire

I started reading the story about almost a month ago and found it interesting. It was told in a "split type" manner, started with a writer writing something. The story of the writer was written in plain text and the the other was bold faced. At first I thought the story in bold faced was actually the story the writer was writing up until the last few paragraphs with the butler and a maid named Ethel talking about something and swearing secrecy. Then I started asking whether the story in bold was actually something like in the movie The Others. Or whether their reality was an alternate universe where our fantasy was their reality. It got me into too much thinking, almost made me think was I slow or did I not ingest the story right?

I looked it up at Neil Gaiman's Journal... and well I got a history of the tale... but not much of the story's meaning. Suffice to say, a writer never reveals his secrets much like magicians. I looked up at some other reviews and got just about the same interpretation as what I had in mind.

I'd like to get some opinions on this as well. If you're ever able to read it, do comment here. :)

Neil Gaiman

I bought a book of his last year over Christmas season. One I gave to a friend, another I kept for myself.


I've heard of Neil Gaiman from a friend in high school and the first work of his that i got a glimpse of (but was not able to read more than a phrase or two) was Smoke and Mirrors. So from then on, that was everything I knew of Neil Gaiman. But I did find the few phrases that I read to be absolutely amazing and have wanted to read more of him. It wasn't until recently that I was able to buy a book.


I bought "Fragile Things. Short Fictions and Wonders"


It took me sometime as well to read it because of exams but anyway, I was able to finish "A Study in Emerald".


Good read. Reminded me a lot of Sherlock Holmes, not that I've read Sherlock Holmes. 


I saw in Wikipedia that it is a Sherlock Holmes/Cthulhu Mythos pastiche written for the anthology Shadows Over Baker Street.


So, new word: pastiche. Pastiche is a literary or other artisitic genre that is a "hodge-podge" or an imitation. 


I liked the story, the general tone and flow of the plot was quite easy to follow. The imagery of Neil Gaiman was kind of new to me as I had not really read fictions that deviated that far from reality. Maybe I'll start my month of blogging with him and fictions related to his genre. :P

The Long Awaited

Recently I found myself regretting a whole lot of things that I had not done. I was watching How I Met Your Mother, I think... that for the 4 years I spent in college, I had done nothing to expand my understanding of writing, of music, of whatever art form which might just about be the single most relevant reason as to why I feel so detached from myself. The opportunities to enjoy a good read or two, I have to admit, is not so scarce but I had not made any attempts to maximize them at the time.

Indeed during those 4 years I had joined the local writer's guild in our university. During the first few years, I was lucky enough to have sat in a workshop delivered by F. Sionil Jose and some of the best young writers produced by our university.  But time was not kind to me; my schedules wouldn't meet with workshop dates and during the few times I could come, I felt too alienated and detached from the people, the activity, and the art to even take something profound away.

So feeling too stagnant with regards to any artistic endeavor, I took up the violin. Still not moving forward with it. Trying to but since I don't have anything simple to play and I don't have a lot of people to play it with, I'm feeling a bit lost.

And then there was my friend, now she was immersed in her art. It was lots of fun hearing her talk about Michelangelo, Da Vinci, Monet, Manet and more. I envied her. I envied the fact that she explored how her art developed to where it is now. It got me to thinking, why don't I go and do some research on the art forms that I like? So here it is. 

The plan is to read the books I have stocked in our house and comment on them as well as research things about the author and get people talking about it... get suggestions for the same art forms and probably, hopefully write something. Same goes for music and visual art. This is really amateur work so don't expect too grand of wordings or too deep critics... I am just here to enjoy, learn, and hopefully find people who will help me grow and who I can help grow in this sense. 

So, enjoy... as I try to explore and expand my artistic knowledge one short entry at a time.