Have you ever fallen in love - furiously, deeply, and passionately...with a book character? If you say Edward Cullen, stop reading IMMEDIATELY and go pick up Catch 22, Don Quixote, The World According to Garp, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, or even a Sherlock Holmes story if you need something a little shorter and more two-dimensional to start off with. I'm not going to lie: in real life you might dislike and disrespect Yossarian or T.S. Garp. Some of the protagonists here are arrogant and distant, many are arguably insane, and others cheat on the women they claim to love.
And yet...
There's something noble, passionate and beautifully truthful about each of them. They all have an intoxicating zest for life and find unique ways of living it to the fullest. But they'll be something different for you than they were for me, and that's the beauty of it. Unlike movie men, often gorgeous but underdeveloped and rigid in their roles, we can see literary characters with our own eyes. Between the printed lines, our minds morph them into something new. Ultimately, we infuse ourselves into them and they become a sound reality in fictitious skin: the perfect man.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Monday, April 13, 2009
Saturday, February 9, 2008
Perhaps the soul's melody is a live cat on a George Foreman grill...
Kat is much better at sharing her soul than I am.
I used to write a lot more than I do, work longer on it, and let people read it. But my writing is fragmented, incoherent, and sometimes I prefer it that way. Don't get me wrong, I know how to shape a good essay or a good letter but my real writing is sporadic at best, and when I edit I have to analyze. It all feels fake to me, the extra words are so empty. Each one feels so rigid, so callous. Mostly I'm afraid. I'm scared that if I analyze my thoughts and feelings all the things I remember and love won't mean anything, and that would be the most empty feeling of all. I don't know if I could handle that. This shouldn't matter to me as much as it does, since only about three people read this blog, and the other two know me better than I know myself.
Its strange the things you remember. . .and stranger the memories that inspire you. I first watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer with Beth and Katie as we lapped up the last of ice cream sandwiches that dripped down our wrists and stuck cakey brown to our fingertips. I still eat ice cream sandwiches every once and awhile and I own two seasons of Buffy now, but I miss the thick sticky air and the effortless friendship of that afternoon. Nothing is the same twice.
I really miss the days when mountain dew was just crappy. Its actually not that bad but the aftertaste always stings the back of my throat so it goes down hard. I imagine liquor is the same way. But now the green label is a bittersweet comfort that makes me want to cry in the bottle as it reminds me of a smile I'll never see again.
The strangest thing is how love can terrify and inspire all in the same moment. Sometimes my feelings are so exuberant they make me doubt everything and want to escape my own mind. But without his silent coaxing and indescribable love I wouldn't even be able to type this out. That may not seem like much courage to some but all of it means the world to me.
- Stef (who wishes she could claim that "cat on a grill" quote, but its borrowed)
I used to write a lot more than I do, work longer on it, and let people read it. But my writing is fragmented, incoherent, and sometimes I prefer it that way. Don't get me wrong, I know how to shape a good essay or a good letter but my real writing is sporadic at best, and when I edit I have to analyze. It all feels fake to me, the extra words are so empty. Each one feels so rigid, so callous. Mostly I'm afraid. I'm scared that if I analyze my thoughts and feelings all the things I remember and love won't mean anything, and that would be the most empty feeling of all. I don't know if I could handle that. This shouldn't matter to me as much as it does, since only about three people read this blog, and the other two know me better than I know myself.
Its strange the things you remember. . .and stranger the memories that inspire you. I first watched Buffy the Vampire Slayer with Beth and Katie as we lapped up the last of ice cream sandwiches that dripped down our wrists and stuck cakey brown to our fingertips. I still eat ice cream sandwiches every once and awhile and I own two seasons of Buffy now, but I miss the thick sticky air and the effortless friendship of that afternoon. Nothing is the same twice.
I really miss the days when mountain dew was just crappy. Its actually not that bad but the aftertaste always stings the back of my throat so it goes down hard. I imagine liquor is the same way. But now the green label is a bittersweet comfort that makes me want to cry in the bottle as it reminds me of a smile I'll never see again.
The strangest thing is how love can terrify and inspire all in the same moment. Sometimes my feelings are so exuberant they make me doubt everything and want to escape my own mind. But without his silent coaxing and indescribable love I wouldn't even be able to type this out. That may not seem like much courage to some but all of it means the world to me.
- Stef (who wishes she could claim that "cat on a grill" quote, but its borrowed)
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