Questionic.
I own (in theory) an original Walter Sickert lithograph. I OWN IT. And one day soon I'm actually going to SEE IT. My Mother bought it for me for Christmas, and shall at some point send it to me, along with a rare biography. I'd write more in the subject, but text is such a limited medium, and would do nothing about my happiness any justice. Once again, as in England, I find myself absolutely hating my Art (Painting) class, though I absolutely love my English class. I'm considering changing my major to English Education, minoring in some other Art related subject because I CANNOT handle the obtuse exercises. Walter Sickert didn't go to Art school... he quit and ran off with Whistler and Degas. This isn't to say I think I should do likewise... I just wish I were free to do as I pleased.
There were some things I wanted to write, but I can't find the energy. I finished Frankenstein and fell absolutely in love with the monster, obviously, because he's un-loved, sadistic (towards the end) and totally grotesque (an eight-foot-tall disproportioned 'mummy' with wrinkled lips, watery yellow eyes and long black hair). All those people chasing him about with pitchforks? WTF? If he ended up in my basement I'd basically adopt him as a gigantic teddy bear and adore him always. Victor Frankenstein was a loony, Elizabeth Lovenza boring, and I basically wanted to castrate Felix De Lacey, the stupid little animal twat.
STOP BANGING ON THE FREAKIN' CEILING WHILE I'M TRYING TO READ MY BOOKS! I'm an easily agitated person... when I need company, I'll come down myself.
Next is Pride and Prejudice, and then The Portrait of Dorian Gray... *sigh* I hate reading Wilde, absolutely. And the Bronte sisters... meh... *rubs eyes* I'm actually pretty fond of Blake's simplistic stuff, though his 'to marry a woman is to imprison her' thing is a little strange. I mean, it's only an incarceration if the couple in question treat it as such. Isn't the basic premise to create unity, and provide security?
Mary Shelley is an AWESOME writer. I was actually REALLY impressed by her writing style and they structure of her story... it was more then written, really, it was crafted... like someone building a machine, rather then telling a story. I appreciated it so tremendously that I actually felt something very rare... a total, un-biased admiration for someone else's talents, totally devoid of jealously or malice. It's a pretty riveting feeling for someone as black-throated as I. Sadly, her Mother, (the author of 'Vindication of the Rights of Women') can't write for kisses nor giggles. Anyway... this type of praise is so rare in my mind that I don't entirely know what to do with it. I like Mary Shelley.. I am not sexually attracted to her, nor do I envy her looks or life; she has defied my understanding of what it means to feel impassioned.
*head on hand* Hmmmm...
I had forgotten: My trip to London has been pushed back to the 14th of February, with my return on the 21st (?). I'm not sure it matters to anyone here, but just so you guys know I haven't vanished off the face of the planet. If I anyone trusts me enough to give me their address, I'll send postcards.
There were some things I wanted to write, but I can't find the energy. I finished Frankenstein and fell absolutely in love with the monster, obviously, because he's un-loved, sadistic (towards the end) and totally grotesque (an eight-foot-tall disproportioned 'mummy' with wrinkled lips, watery yellow eyes and long black hair). All those people chasing him about with pitchforks? WTF? If he ended up in my basement I'd basically adopt him as a gigantic teddy bear and adore him always. Victor Frankenstein was a loony, Elizabeth Lovenza boring, and I basically wanted to castrate Felix De Lacey, the stupid little animal twat.
STOP BANGING ON THE FREAKIN' CEILING WHILE I'M TRYING TO READ MY BOOKS! I'm an easily agitated person... when I need company, I'll come down myself.
Next is Pride and Prejudice, and then The Portrait of Dorian Gray... *sigh* I hate reading Wilde, absolutely. And the Bronte sisters... meh... *rubs eyes* I'm actually pretty fond of Blake's simplistic stuff, though his 'to marry a woman is to imprison her' thing is a little strange. I mean, it's only an incarceration if the couple in question treat it as such. Isn't the basic premise to create unity, and provide security?
Mary Shelley is an AWESOME writer. I was actually REALLY impressed by her writing style and they structure of her story... it was more then written, really, it was crafted... like someone building a machine, rather then telling a story. I appreciated it so tremendously that I actually felt something very rare... a total, un-biased admiration for someone else's talents, totally devoid of jealously or malice. It's a pretty riveting feeling for someone as black-throated as I. Sadly, her Mother, (the author of 'Vindication of the Rights of Women') can't write for kisses nor giggles. Anyway... this type of praise is so rare in my mind that I don't entirely know what to do with it. I like Mary Shelley.. I am not sexually attracted to her, nor do I envy her looks or life; she has defied my understanding of what it means to feel impassioned.
*head on hand* Hmmmm...
I had forgotten: My trip to London has been pushed back to the 14th of February, with my return on the 21st (?). I'm not sure it matters to anyone here, but just so you guys know I haven't vanished off the face of the planet. If I anyone trusts me enough to give me their address, I'll send postcards.