Sunday, October 26, 2008

Atonement

The title of the book is contrary in relation to the characters in the novel thus making it frivolous and insignificant. The analogous exemplification would be for the Jews to rename Mein Kempf to atonement. Point being, none of the idiots in the story reached atonement. Paul Marshall, the first idiot and almost the most hated character in the story second to Briony is the real life bedroom version of the role play game adults utilize to spice up their sex life called F$#* me daddy. Well close – Lola isn’t Paul’s daughter but she is 13 and Paul is the pedophile pretend daddy having his name screamed late at night. This Houdini manages to somehow use trickery and dodge the anal Jericho Missile (See Movie Iron Man) that was targeted to stampede through his rectum from years of prison by pawning it off to the second idiot, Robbie. Robbie’s character apparently has a huge “L” stamped on his forehead and a tattoo on his ass that says “Wide Receiver”. When the time comes to defend Robbie’s accusations of rape no one stands up for him not even the women that loves him which brings us to our third idiot, Cecilia. What kind of women doesn’t stand up to the man she is supposedly destined to be with and have her destiny stripped away from her by the words of a little adolescent girl. Helen Keller would have even mustered up an “F U”. Two characters left…and I’m already second guessing my “who’s the biggest idiot” character so I’m going to put it at a tie for now. Idiot A) tied for last goes to Lola. Either Lola liked being treated like Bowden’s daughter playing center lineman and having balls pass repeatedly through her legs or she realized that screaming Paul’s name was even better than Daddy because either way she kept her mouth shut during the entire story about the truth of her rapist. Here is an alternate ending scenario. Envision Lola being 18 years of age coming clean with the rape story and the court ruling that she gets a 30 second head start on foot with nancy boy Robbie chasing her in a tank. Imagine Robbie, who has been in prison and the war, magically growing a sack and chasing her down, ravaging her like a drunken Ted Bundy followed by an episode of nip/tuck with a female circumcision. Ok B) tied for biggest idiot BRIONY. I have never watched a movie and wanted to find the actor playing the part and physically beat them. Briony’s problem is that Robbie doesn’t like to play pop goes the little girl cherry with her and once she realizes that Robbie is in love with her sister she becomes consumed with jealously. All the rubbish about how she was confused and didn’t know what was going on in the library is ignorance. Briony was 13 and didn’t have a mental disability hindering her ability to comprehend the real world. She wasn’t a chromy 21 baby living in Saudi Arabia yelling “LALALA JIHAD”. She was a horny adolescent girl who was in LOVE with Robbie and decided that if she couldn’t have Robbie no one could…except maybe the 200 pound prison men that love little nancy boy’s. The alternate ending for Briony would be similar to that of the oracles in 300 being ravaged by the monstrous Ephors. Except she would be in a mental institution and lines of mental midgets would line up daily to rape her.

Sunday, October 12, 2008

Plath

The explosion of stimuli consuming my brain that has been backed up causing swelling and pain like a 3 am Friday night drunk tease finally blew its load reading the selections of Plath's poetry. Not that I didn't appreciate the mind numbing monotonous futile characters which appeared as tiny dancers in the stories which my eyes read as writing but my brain interpreted as rubbish...Those crayola crayon four finger over the top thumb 4th grade characters I am referring to come from the writings of Julia Alvarez, Tennesee Williams, and Tony Morrison. Between the inept biography of an awkward Catholic Dominican Republic Immigrant (Alvarez) whose social skills are atrociously lacking and inability to culturally adapt closely parallel those of a primitive repressed monkey figuring out for the first time what to do with the selectively elongated third leg that appears every morning... to the Oedipus complex writings of Williams whose obsessively left brained left handed bipolar sentences left rooting from his mother and leafing off his alcoholic abusive father. If I wanted to hear a nancy boy whine about his daddy and how he can't defend his mother from a drunk I'll go throw up. Lastly Toni Morrison. Wow nothing to say it was long drawn out and did not have a spicy contemporary feel... SURPRISE 170 pages later. So LETS GET TO Plath. She was dementedly entertaining and psychotically arousing. Who cares if she baked her head in an oven. She was the only author that didn't cause me to take another shot of burbon and contemplate what the inside of my brain looks like. The End.

Sunday, October 5, 2008

Falling

It’s that time yet again. Just when I thought I was alone after what some of us call the journey of tears which streamed down years prior a new shed of light appeared in my life. I remember those times when I felt as if I were rising to heaven… I could see down on everything in its beauty and even though I was content and didn’t want to go I knew that my turn was coming. Sitting on my thrown high above things had changed. I didn’t even know who I was anymore or what I had become. I knew things were too good to be true – I resembled a fallen star not yet fallen smiling and full surrounded by others that appeared to be just like me. Happy but weary of the next step and the journey to come all bound by the same laws of nature of an intertwined destiny that could only be foretold through history and time. Ah yes time… the only thing I wish I had more of. Why might you ask? To change anything and everything in hopes I could have prevented it all? Or maybe to save us from the moments which seemed to be closing in on our inevitable doom. I don’t know anymore to be honest. The beginning was so damn good… it always is. We were the carousel, the wishing well – the mystery from outer space, we were the pool on an august day…the perfect thing to say. Then just like another summer day that has come and gone away, as did we. When it rains it pours and what rises must eventually fall, as did we. And fall we did. Together we fell like the titanic in the abyss of shades of blue with stretches of grey. The sky above blackened as the aftermath of Nagasaki and Hiroshima clearing only after the inexplicable damage had been done. But now after the storm has settled and all is calm I find my self surrounded once again by a million people. I still feel all alone – I just want to go home. Another summer day has come and I feel the warmth shining on my back. I feel nostalgic … I’m in love once again rising to heaven. Is this is it though? Will the laws of nature freeze and capture this moment forever. Or will we fall once more on another summer day. I’m just too far from where I want to be – I wanna come home. I’ll be home tonight.