Wringing It Out

Poetry.

Although I have been told that my writing has a poetic ring to it, I have never indulged in the process of writing poetry itself before last Sunday. I always got how free verse poetry was appealing. I saw it as lax and compliant, a twist in fluent speech. I understood it, but I'll still say this: There's a madness about the lack of rhyme and consistency of concrete syllable count, that I had felt structure was absolutely loose and quiescent, obliging only to the mind of the poet. I'm still getting the hang of things, and if ever there were truly a correlation between poetry and bicycling, I think I would understand it, because to write poetry and to bike you need that smooth glide and control till all you feel is the euphoria of the wind in your ears and hair.

I love metaphors. Maybe this is why I love metaphors:

There is emotion (a shadow of it, a sliver of it filtering through a gap of curtain, or maybe a reeling dream of it) you can't express in limited, literal words that it becomes marginally inscrutable. Indecipherable, and utmost enigmatic. But there are other words, ways, and the crooked yet pure excuse of poetry, to elude descriptions seemingly too vapid and hackneyed and instead to make up out of this world explanations by calling on stars and space and blood and butterflies without (entirely) losing your hold on the ground and the thorough coherence of literacy.

Poetry is a stifled cry, an episode of improvised, muffled chokes as the blood pooling down around your feet throttles you free.

I would also like to direct you to the most recent (as of now) blog post of Ms. Laini Taylor, which she posted three days ago and which I was ecstatic to be notified of just minutes ago. Laini Taylor is a phenomenal writer and blogs about a metaphor involving writing a novel.

Love and Freedom

Catharsis pulsing like a dream, when our entwined breaths radiate in the contact of our hands, drips in the shadows of your touch, like a blushing cheek against a neck, like a palm of solace and comfort, and like a hiss of wreckage in the serenity. A hiss, a groan, hostility. Pain.

Pain?

The enormity of the vast galaxy, the unwieldy gravity of earth, and the claustrophobic, intoxicating loose hold of space are convoluted nothings in me, and are thus set free in and by the frissons of love; puzzle pieces clicking into place to suggest an unbrokenness, a gasp of "I promise". It's the mesmerizing pull which unfurls me into you - a tug-of-war on hair and ears, a hitch in your inhalation and a wail in my exhalation. Pale, splayed fingers.

You may as well know, entirely, that you impede my routine with a subtle interrogation, acting completely serious with sly dialogue and infuriating subterfuge. This is infallibly your deceptive facade. Then in the gleam of your eyes I am ticking - too soon, I am enraptured and enslaved. You inadvertently slip out a twinge of emotion, and, like an influx of sun and stars and heaven, I am engulfed and in need of repair. I stutter and skid into a territory of new, everything so awfully new. Of you. Unknown and uncharted. Exotic and fey. You rein me in and I you. We elapse back to urgency, encrypted emergency, reincarnated angst. An amber blaring angrily in anxiety, rather. Need charred and singed on the edges. A litany of perpetual exasperation and a downpour of liberating veracity.

Indignation, acidic and biting and bitter bitter bitter, teasing, "——". Contemptuously delicious - air carrying rigidity, guttural and raspy.

Speechless. Dumbfounded.
A clogged up heart.

♥

Solving the Mystery

Spoiler!sh: about The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon

and others

I frankly happened to want to read this book like I did Life of Pi: on the spur of the moment, as if the description of the novel was too interesting just in itself that I wanted to ravage the story. It was easy to spot due to its color, and the upside down poodle easily stirred up some curiosity of my own, because if something can be "wonderfully intelligent," "wrenching," and noted that the feel of The Catcher in the Rye can be felt while submerged in it, I can say that I am up for a read.

So here we go. Here I go.

(This isn't particularly a book review - mind you there is personal input bound to spring from this post too - but a collection or scope of my favorite lines and why I like this and why this made me smile and just why, why, why.)

Okay.

I am not going to encapsulate my response with Christopher's (the protagonist) autism as the outline because that isn't what this novel is about. I would venture to classify it as something like coming-of-age, but when I think of it it just doesn't exactly click with what the book contains. And this begins to puzzle me. The Curious Incident insinuates something of the piquing of the interest, a mystery of some sort, and perhaps this is what pulled me in, especially since our Christopher is fifteen years old. But the book is written in first-person narrative, and like most books with the same narrative the world we read of is totally subjective, and I somehow didn't entirely expect this because first chapter in and I am intimidated because there's a dog and next chapter there is the talk of emotions and perceiving them, coming from someone known to be logical. And this book is incredibly subjective and thoughtful and stupefying; it suggests a vortex of different vision. 

And I feel like books ought to suck people in like this did.

One of many factors frightening about my adventure through this read is the proximity of Christopher's thoughts, and how when there's "a balloon in his chest" I can feel it in mine and his fear permeates into me. His distress and his incidents are tangible through the rasp of paper and all his actions - I can see them. I can't not see them, especially when he covers his ears with his hands multiple times.

And I can't help but see Stephen Chbosky's Charlie (in the film adaptation).

ow

Then Christopher has a vast interest in space, and mentions wanting to be an astronaut then a scientist, and I admire this a whole lot. I revel in the confessions of ambition and aspirations and dreams and daydreams, and the bleeding of the head on the thought of time and the future. He talks about Sherlock Holmes, the author of the Sherlock Holmes series, reasons why people are being unreasonable, what he's watching or what he has watched (like Star Trek and Doctor Who), and he drives a whole different place - whether be it the neighborhood or the train station - into my head without flashing it through so much words but by showing diagrams of not just buildings but tiny illustrations and equations and personal comprehensions of his. Sometimes it's overwhelming when he goes off on a tangent, and some chapters are dedicated to just describing something or someplace, but I find these as an enormous part of the book although they may be small. He complains about how illogical metaphors are and points out the usage of the simile and why it isn't the same as the metaphor itself. ☺

Christopher detects and explains what he's doing, and why he's doing it, and I can almost hear his mind work with all the decisions he makes. And the room isn't so empty (even if literally isn't) because Mark Haddon provides a reserved but talkative character who blows my mind repetitively. He does heaps of maths and although I do not interact with him through constants and variables and radicals, I see how maths and his calculations reach out to him.

I feel like I should mention that he reminds me of Spock in the way that he shoehorns himself into so much profound logic and, I quote, "always tells the truth," because his lies are only "white lies" and he finds good enough reason in his excuse. And there's a quote (that originates from Star Trek) Spock and Sherlock say about the truth. Then Christopher says, "And this shows that intuition can sometimes get things wrong. And intuition is what people use in life to make decisions. But logic can help you work out the right answer." He expounds on Sherlock facts at one end of a chapter and I almost laugh because he focuses on facts. This makes me somewhat smile. Because.

©

This may seem contradictory but Christopher and Spock differ in entire being and story, and so much more. (I just adore the prominent relevance I may have made up in my head and that's about it - and I also adore Spock. I magnify the idea of their intellectual relation because of the aforementioned.)

Christopher describes himself as observant and brave, and with this I wholeheartedly concur. His supply of quotations from The Hound of the Baskervilles (his favorite book, which figures) makes me think even more, and this is what I've been looking for.

The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes. 

Sherlock Holmes had, in a very remarkable degree, the power of detaching his mind at will.

He finds understanding and nestles in refuge in these lines.

He also quotes Doctor Watson (about Sherlock): His mind... was busy in endeavouring to frame some scheme into which all these strange and apparently disconnected episodes could be fitted.

He elaborates that "this is what I am trying to do by writing this book." 

And although I don't do it, I want to scream and groan like he does, and the nexus of all these detached and singular riddles and rhymes chills me and kills me to the bone. And hah! I almost guffaw at the thought of Christopher arduously attempting to comprehend what I had just said, and the life in this book is invigorating and the streets glow in novelty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And that is where I end the poring out of my empathy and compassion, and I hope they were evident! Yay!

An update on my own "book" writing: I've started a project that will hopefully strive and prosper (it began around late-but-not-so-late January. I am about to complete one section wherein I've hustled in info about Vulcans. (But not all content shall be Star Trek.) I'm declaring that copying off from wiki pages makes me feel oddly happy and keeps me busy when I feel like I really should be, and I like learning about fictional aliens and I'm calling this fictional xenobiology and you might not be able to stop me.

T'was also a good day because the world was presented with a new ("extended") Iron Man 3 trailer and an equally provocative (at least to yours truly) Star Trek Into Darkness teaser at the Superbowl. I will be checking them out myself tomorrow night.

I should hop into bed very soon.

Good night and DFTBA!