It's a pink-haired Cinderella as a mechanic, on planetoids and in spaceships. She has a robot pet mouse and a fairy godrobot. She's always fixing stuff. What's not to like?
I found the 'Interstellar Cinderella' picture book to be more interesting and inventive (get it?) than the YA novel 'Cinder', which features a cyborg Cinderella who is also a mechanic.
'Interstellar Cinderella' is cute, colourful, fun, and full of good rhymes and bits and bobs on every page. The sci-fi, intergalactic twist on the overused classic tale is executed creatively. It even gives a good reason for why the prince (who is a POC here) doesn’t recognize Cinderella after their first meeting (in this version they never get to the ball; she fixes his ship and they spend time admiring gizmos together) - she was wearing a space helmet and goggles. Her glass slipper is substituted for a sonic socket wrench - the prince will find his dream girl based on her skills as a mechanic!
'Interstellar Cinderella' is rather potholed at points; even for a short picture book, it skips and jumps forward in the story far too much. The fairy godrobot only appears on one page as well.
Still, Cinderella herself is a very likable protagonist. I love how her dream of being a mechanic doesn't change throughout. She studies hard, and always finds opportunities to fix things - even big starships - and in the end she is appreciated and rewarded for her efforts. A great message for everyone to hear, not just little girls who are into what is typically "boy's stuff".
Cinderella in this story is useful to everyone she comes across, and is a joy to be with. She does what she does because she wants to, and she is especially resourceful with her tools.
With this, 'Ella Enchanted', and the film 'Ever After', by broadening my horizons more and more, I'm growing to like what was once my least favourite princess fairy tale. 'Interstellar Cinderella' is a gem all right.
Final Score: 4/5
Saturday 27 February 2016
Wednesday 24 February 2016
Scribble #16
It's not snowing just yet, though it is foggy up in the trees and rooftops, and misty in the grass, like a river of vaporous snakes. Birds tweet in the morning, and at midnight sometimes. Winter condensation on the windows isn't always welcome in. Wind howls, and blows fences in. Kid's balls in next door's garden will fly up and land in our own garden.
It is at this moment in time, nearly 1am, that I feel like my life is a complete mess. I am not as organised as I thought, and time keeps shadowing me, mocking me, judging me. At around 3am, all this part of the eclipsed world will change. The air, the land, our realm and the realms of our individual dreams will appear still. And yet - like every time between night and dawn - all will shimmer with magic; a strangeness submerging, with creatures that which neither man nor woman has ever imagined. They may dream of the ghostly fae, but will likely forget them once awoken at daybreak. Those few of us who are fully awake at this wholesome hour, a time between earthly times, and sober and believing, will remember the apparitions once we see them. From the shadows in our living rooms, to out and under the streetlamps, they can move anywhere. Us lucky ones might either go insane, or be snatched away by the creatures; taken to the realm of the unreal, the unknown. Or we might merely keep the feelings and sightings to ourselves. For who among us who have not seen such unnatural phenomena would believe?
13. The unlucky, Gothic, glorious, lonely, misunderstood number. My dreams are cluttered, confused. I dreamt of missing a lot of thing. Missing time, everything. I am a mess, and will anyone miss me? Am I unimportant? A waste of hopes and dreams? And money?
I hate nuts, and seeds, especially when they are put into things where they shouldn't belong, like fermented bread. Whenever I have to have a seed bread sandwich for luncheon, I slice it, toast it, then slather it with dollops of butter and cheese so as to hide the sight, smell and taste of the fiddly seedlings. This kind of defeats the purpose of them, but at meal times who cares? I confidently don't. I also hate the bits left in fruit drinks. Like, it's a drink; nothing should get jammed in your teeth!
It is at this moment in time, nearly 1am, that I feel like my life is a complete mess. I am not as organised as I thought, and time keeps shadowing me, mocking me, judging me. At around 3am, all this part of the eclipsed world will change. The air, the land, our realm and the realms of our individual dreams will appear still. And yet - like every time between night and dawn - all will shimmer with magic; a strangeness submerging, with creatures that which neither man nor woman has ever imagined. They may dream of the ghostly fae, but will likely forget them once awoken at daybreak. Those few of us who are fully awake at this wholesome hour, a time between earthly times, and sober and believing, will remember the apparitions once we see them. From the shadows in our living rooms, to out and under the streetlamps, they can move anywhere. Us lucky ones might either go insane, or be snatched away by the creatures; taken to the realm of the unreal, the unknown. Or we might merely keep the feelings and sightings to ourselves. For who among us who have not seen such unnatural phenomena would believe?
13. The unlucky, Gothic, glorious, lonely, misunderstood number. My dreams are cluttered, confused. I dreamt of missing a lot of thing. Missing time, everything. I am a mess, and will anyone miss me? Am I unimportant? A waste of hopes and dreams? And money?
I hate nuts, and seeds, especially when they are put into things where they shouldn't belong, like fermented bread. Whenever I have to have a seed bread sandwich for luncheon, I slice it, toast it, then slather it with dollops of butter and cheese so as to hide the sight, smell and taste of the fiddly seedlings. This kind of defeats the purpose of them, but at meal times who cares? I confidently don't. I also hate the bits left in fruit drinks. Like, it's a drink; nothing should get jammed in your teeth!
Tuesday 23 February 2016
Scribble #15
The cafe above the bookshop. Quiet. Only a little radio playing, like an ending scene in a film noir. Only it's well lighted, and there are little plastic flowers on the ebony tables with chairs that have green cushions. Windows are closed to keep out the chill. Baby highchair is as white as the sugar cups. People come and sit from browsing the bookshelves, and it's only a matter of time before they leave again. I don't order anything here; last time they gave me a free cup of tea for coming on the day of the experimental cafe's opening. Cosy. Traditional. Harmless to the economy. Kettle steaming. Now I will eat my own food.
Sugar cube. Sugar cube. Sugar cube city. Raggedy Ann cafe stop.
It's so warm, so the coat comes off. The windows are huge - looks over the whole parking lot - on the second floor. Snuggled in a comfy square of a chair, here I am in this immortal cinema cafe. My heart aches for my friend, who is usually here with me. She would chatter and smile on beside quiet, mousy old me. There is always enough space for both of us, but not time; no, the same cannot be said there. But in tangent, space and time should wait for no friendship. It occupies limitless space and is timeless.
Cinemas are very brown, black and grey, aren't they? Sun's gone down...
Crackly thunder and trees in the dark, dark woods,
Like creaking and cobwebs in an old, old house.
Sugar cube. Sugar cube. Sugar cube city. Raggedy Ann cafe stop.
It's so warm, so the coat comes off. The windows are huge - looks over the whole parking lot - on the second floor. Snuggled in a comfy square of a chair, here I am in this immortal cinema cafe. My heart aches for my friend, who is usually here with me. She would chatter and smile on beside quiet, mousy old me. There is always enough space for both of us, but not time; no, the same cannot be said there. But in tangent, space and time should wait for no friendship. It occupies limitless space and is timeless.
Cinemas are very brown, black and grey, aren't they? Sun's gone down...
Crackly thunder and trees in the dark, dark woods,
Like creaking and cobwebs in an old, old house.
Saturday 20 February 2016
Non-Fiction Book Review - 'Brown Girl Dreaming' by Jacqueline Woodson
2023 EDIT: Part of my 2023 clear-up, of books I no longer like, or am no longer interested in, or remember well as standing out, or find as special anymore, or I otherwise will not miss.
Final Score: 3.5/5
Original Review:
A beautiful book all about the early childhood of Jacqueline Woodson, born into a wonderful black family with a rich history amid the changing times of 60s South Carolina and New York, told in segments through poetic verse.
Very sweet and touching, as well as a little sad, the personal account of 'Brown Girl Dreaming' reminded me of the importance of memory; of your earliest memories, and what you learn about life, family and friends as a child. I suppose everyone sees and appreciates the world as so colourful a place when one is small in it, especially when one has moved from home to home as much as Jackie did.
'Brown Girl Dreaming' is also about the start of the author's passions - from reading to writing, and the slow but sure progress towards living her dreams (she lamented not being perfect, as we all have at some point in our lives; more so for artists of any kind).
The book is all about Jacqueline’s own world, just as we each have our individual world to travel, explore and make real. The reader is invited in to explore with her.
Final Score: 4/5
Final Score: 3.5/5
Original Review:
A beautiful book all about the early childhood of Jacqueline Woodson, born into a wonderful black family with a rich history amid the changing times of 60s South Carolina and New York, told in segments through poetic verse.
Very sweet and touching, as well as a little sad, the personal account of 'Brown Girl Dreaming' reminded me of the importance of memory; of your earliest memories, and what you learn about life, family and friends as a child. I suppose everyone sees and appreciates the world as so colourful a place when one is small in it, especially when one has moved from home to home as much as Jackie did.
'Brown Girl Dreaming' is also about the start of the author's passions - from reading to writing, and the slow but sure progress towards living her dreams (she lamented not being perfect, as we all have at some point in our lives; more so for artists of any kind).
The book is all about Jacqueline’s own world, just as we each have our individual world to travel, explore and make real. The reader is invited in to explore with her.
Final Score: 4/5
Sunday 14 February 2016
Book Review - 'Skellig' by David Almond
2021 EDIT: Maybe I was not in the right mood to read this again, but now I find 'Skellig' to be quite boring, uneventful and repetitive.
First obvious problem: Why did Michael's family move to such a dilapidated house to begin with? Did one of his parents have a new job? (It's not clear in the slightest what they do for a living). It's not far from where they used to live, so... what? Second obvious problem: Why would anyone sell a dilapidated and messy house, one that hasn't been cleaned out in decades, to a family that includes a heavily pregnant woman? Does the house have anything to do with the premature birth? Third obvious problem: Why doesn't any hired help get around to cleaning and clearing everything out already? There's a sickly newborn living there now (spitting in the face of common sense, morals and ethics), as well as another kid; so there is a rush and much at stake here!
And why don't they name that baby already?
Mina, Michael's new neighbour and friend, is every inch the pretentious Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Homeschooled, an art wiz, a poetry wiz, a science wiz, and talks and acts like an unearthly angel of philosophy (Michael even refers to her as something to that effect near the end of the book). No child like her exists. There is also character inconsistency (especially with Michael's parents), and child characters saying "Bollocks", "Bloody", and "Bloody hell" a lot for pages at a time. This is meant to be a children's book, right?
I wasn't completely unengaged and distant from the narrative, however. The writing is fine, aside from the dry repetition of words, phrases and actions. There's no upfront antagonist. I like Skellig himself, and the theme and symbolism he represents in Michael's coming-of-age story, full of sadness and childlike confusion.
So 'Skellig' is fine for a quick and simple middle-school/YA novella. There are more interesting books out there, that's all. A book containing similar themes, 'A Monster Calls', is better; it's stronger, more heart-wrenching, more terrifying, more real, and far less pretentious.
Final Score: 2/5
An ethereal, touching little book for all ages. If only I'd read it in school when I had so many opportunities (though I don't think there was ever a copy in my library). It just happened to be in my local charity shop for well under £1, and voila! I got into it right away.
'Skellig' is an ambiguous, magical realism tale told by a young boy who is dealing with so many changes - internally and externally - and foreboding layers of death in his life. With its quick and seemingly simple writing style for children, it is very easy to get sucked into this lovely and symbolic book; so much so that it can be read within a day. A brief but beautiful experience in the dull, hopeless winter months.
'Skellig' has themes of family, friendship, grief, responsibility, faith, moving forward, and change in childhood. It could be called a first-stage 'A Monster Calls' for younger readers, who are just getting a taste of what grief is like and the horrible, confusing feelings that come with it.
Overall, 'Skellig' is a nice story with no antagonist (except fate itself, maybe), and with only a few instances of uncalled-for nastiness throughout. Addictive and wonderful even in its hard parts, I hold David Almond's magnum opus belatedly near and dear to my heart, of which it has plenty of.
Final Score: 4/5
First obvious problem: Why did Michael's family move to such a dilapidated house to begin with? Did one of his parents have a new job? (It's not clear in the slightest what they do for a living). It's not far from where they used to live, so... what? Second obvious problem: Why would anyone sell a dilapidated and messy house, one that hasn't been cleaned out in decades, to a family that includes a heavily pregnant woman? Does the house have anything to do with the premature birth? Third obvious problem: Why doesn't any hired help get around to cleaning and clearing everything out already? There's a sickly newborn living there now (spitting in the face of common sense, morals and ethics), as well as another kid; so there is a rush and much at stake here!
And why don't they name that baby already?
Mina, Michael's new neighbour and friend, is every inch the pretentious Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Homeschooled, an art wiz, a poetry wiz, a science wiz, and talks and acts like an unearthly angel of philosophy (Michael even refers to her as something to that effect near the end of the book). No child like her exists. There is also character inconsistency (especially with Michael's parents), and child characters saying "Bollocks", "Bloody", and "Bloody hell" a lot for pages at a time. This is meant to be a children's book, right?
I wasn't completely unengaged and distant from the narrative, however. The writing is fine, aside from the dry repetition of words, phrases and actions. There's no upfront antagonist. I like Skellig himself, and the theme and symbolism he represents in Michael's coming-of-age story, full of sadness and childlike confusion.
So 'Skellig' is fine for a quick and simple middle-school/YA novella. There are more interesting books out there, that's all. A book containing similar themes, 'A Monster Calls', is better; it's stronger, more heart-wrenching, more terrifying, more real, and far less pretentious.
Final Score: 2/5
'Skellig' is an ambiguous, magical realism tale told by a young boy who is dealing with so many changes - internally and externally - and foreboding layers of death in his life. With its quick and seemingly simple writing style for children, it is very easy to get sucked into this lovely and symbolic book; so much so that it can be read within a day. A brief but beautiful experience in the dull, hopeless winter months.
'Skellig' has themes of family, friendship, grief, responsibility, faith, moving forward, and change in childhood. It could be called a first-stage 'A Monster Calls' for younger readers, who are just getting a taste of what grief is like and the horrible, confusing feelings that come with it.
Overall, 'Skellig' is a nice story with no antagonist (except fate itself, maybe), and with only a few instances of uncalled-for nastiness throughout. Addictive and wonderful even in its hard parts, I hold David Almond's magnum opus belatedly near and dear to my heart, of which it has plenty of.
Final Score: 4/5
Saturday 13 February 2016
Book Review - 'The Man' by Raymond Briggs
I used to listen to this on cassette (wow do I feel old now) when I was little.
'The Man' by Raymond Briggs is a unique, bittersweet story about the relationship between a growing boy and a short-tempered, funny man small enough to live in a drawer. Friendship and its needs are tested.
This picture book is the best kind of dialogue-heavy, because the character's voices are distinct, expressive and (nearly) always clashing. Sad ending, too - now that I think about it, it shows that it's okay for males to cry and express their feelings.
The boy John's mum shows up occasionally for her voice to be heard in a situation she’s being kept in the dark about.
Murky, strange yet poignant. ‘The Man’ was not one of my favourites growing up (too much of a boy's story, I thought), but it sticks with you. Sometimes the littlest things can open up big waves of emotion in you.
Final Score: 3/5
'The Man' by Raymond Briggs is a unique, bittersweet story about the relationship between a growing boy and a short-tempered, funny man small enough to live in a drawer. Friendship and its needs are tested.
This picture book is the best kind of dialogue-heavy, because the character's voices are distinct, expressive and (nearly) always clashing. Sad ending, too - now that I think about it, it shows that it's okay for males to cry and express their feelings.
The boy John's mum shows up occasionally for her voice to be heard in a situation she’s being kept in the dark about.
Murky, strange yet poignant. ‘The Man’ was not one of my favourites growing up (too much of a boy's story, I thought), but it sticks with you. Sometimes the littlest things can open up big waves of emotion in you.
Final Score: 3/5
Book Review - 'The Princess and the Pony' by Kate Beaton
This is so cute! It's also diverse in its character designs, and subtly deconstructs what is socially deemed masculine and feminine, with a message of non-violence and loving things for what they are naturally. Even the farting pony is downplayed - there's more fun stuff on display here for the kids! Great for little warrior princesses!
Final Score: 4/5
Final Score: 4/5
Friday 12 February 2016
Book Review - 'Felicity Wishes: Secrets and Surprises' by Emma Thomson
2023 EDIT: Part of my 2023 clear-up, of books I no longer like, or am no longer interested in, or remember well as standing out, or find as special anymore, or I otherwise will not miss.
Final Score: 3.5/5
Original Review:
Much the same as the previous 'Felicity Wishes' book, only this one's a birthday party/domestic pop-up book instead of a magical fairyschool-based one, so I didn't resonate with it as strongly. But it's nice, sweet, playful, and harmlessly predictable for kids.
Final Score: 4/5
Final Score: 3.5/5
Original Review:
Much the same as the previous 'Felicity Wishes' book, only this one's a birthday party/domestic pop-up book instead of a magical fairyschool-based one, so I didn't resonate with it as strongly. But it's nice, sweet, playful, and harmlessly predictable for kids.
Final Score: 4/5
Book Review - 'Felicity Wishes: Friendship and Fairyschool' by Emma Thomson
How strange that it is only recently I began to remember this, and now I can't stop thinking about it. Nostalgia is a powerful magic.
'Felicity Wishes: Friendship and Fairyschool' is a creative delight of a pop-up book, especially for someone like me who loved fairies, female friendships and boarding schools as a child. It is very girly, smiley and sparkly, but is innocent and colourful in its approach. The book's practically filled with fairy dust! Its important lessons on caring and helping others - learning to be self-confident as well as socially-assured - are well executed.
'Felicity Wishes' (such a lovely name for a fairy) and its vibrant sweetness had cheered me up and made me feel like I belonged somewhere when I was a weird, awkward and lonely girl at school. I hope maybe to revisit this fairyschool someday, like a reunion, so as to relive that youthful hope and benignity once more. For it is sadly easy to become mean and cynical nowadays.
Final Score: 4/5
'Felicity Wishes: Friendship and Fairyschool' is a creative delight of a pop-up book, especially for someone like me who loved fairies, female friendships and boarding schools as a child. It is very girly, smiley and sparkly, but is innocent and colourful in its approach. The book's practically filled with fairy dust! Its important lessons on caring and helping others - learning to be self-confident as well as socially-assured - are well executed.
'Felicity Wishes' (such a lovely name for a fairy) and its vibrant sweetness had cheered me up and made me feel like I belonged somewhere when I was a weird, awkward and lonely girl at school. I hope maybe to revisit this fairyschool someday, like a reunion, so as to relive that youthful hope and benignity once more. For it is sadly easy to become mean and cynical nowadays.
Final Score: 4/5
Thursday 11 February 2016
Scribble #14
(Rambling nonsense ahead):
The psychological state of the heart and soul can effect - and infect - the mind as well. Here are the conditions of a human, wild heart, depending on inner and outer life circumstances (or trauma):
Heart of Tears - Overtly feeling inside and out. Expressing sensitivity.
Heart of Steel - Deliberately blocking feeling. An illusion of strength.
Heart of Ice - Unintentionally unfeeling, not by choice. Must be understood in order to melt.
Heart of Mud - Muddled, clotted, easily influenced, lonely for light and soul.
Heart of Crystal - Clear, understanding, but not yet free.
Heart of Wind and Fire - Free, orderly, nourishing daily and nightly. Healing in effect by way of action.
Heart of Fog - Confused, lost, in between wondering with a purpose and looking directionless.
Peace seems an impossible concept - for no single individual can think, feel and act truly like another. It might only be achieved by eradicating free will, when viewed and analyzed in that way. But love, understanding, respect, and/or empathy for one another can be achieved, if we give these human trials a chance. Through hard work and perseverance.
The psychological state of the heart and soul can effect - and infect - the mind as well. Here are the conditions of a human, wild heart, depending on inner and outer life circumstances (or trauma):
Heart of Tears - Overtly feeling inside and out. Expressing sensitivity.
Heart of Steel - Deliberately blocking feeling. An illusion of strength.
Heart of Ice - Unintentionally unfeeling, not by choice. Must be understood in order to melt.
Heart of Mud - Muddled, clotted, easily influenced, lonely for light and soul.
Heart of Crystal - Clear, understanding, but not yet free.
Heart of Wind and Fire - Free, orderly, nourishing daily and nightly. Healing in effect by way of action.
Heart of Fog - Confused, lost, in between wondering with a purpose and looking directionless.
Peace seems an impossible concept - for no single individual can think, feel and act truly like another. It might only be achieved by eradicating free will, when viewed and analyzed in that way. But love, understanding, respect, and/or empathy for one another can be achieved, if we give these human trials a chance. Through hard work and perseverance.
Scribble #13
Life should not be made into bullet points.
Place your trust in those who have earned it, and have earned a place in your loving and wise soul.
Always remember, and remain in close, loving contact with, those who have helped you to get up, go on and achieve your dreams.
Spare a loving thought - and hug - for those who are happy you were born.
The phrase, "Time out of mind", doesn't mean very vague and unspecific. It just means that an idea or story has been so powerful and so impressive (and still so relevant), that it has lasted through everything that mankind has been throwing at it since it was first told. And since before we knew how to record time.
Couples, clueless about solitary life, come to cafes a lot. Must be nice.
I may not have powers, but I'm not powerless.
I feel like Sleeping Beauty, only not so beautiful.
Everywhere, in any place, there lives an angel.
Thoughts are always swimming in my mind, surfacing, flying over water, not underwater.
I listen, absorb and carry around and create stories in my mind, body, heart and soul, like a sage, a prophet. A moon mage.
Place your trust in those who have earned it, and have earned a place in your loving and wise soul.
Always remember, and remain in close, loving contact with, those who have helped you to get up, go on and achieve your dreams.
Spare a loving thought - and hug - for those who are happy you were born.
The phrase, "Time out of mind", doesn't mean very vague and unspecific. It just means that an idea or story has been so powerful and so impressive (and still so relevant), that it has lasted through everything that mankind has been throwing at it since it was first told. And since before we knew how to record time.
Couples, clueless about solitary life, come to cafes a lot. Must be nice.
I may not have powers, but I'm not powerless.
I feel like Sleeping Beauty, only not so beautiful.
Everywhere, in any place, there lives an angel.
Thoughts are always swimming in my mind, surfacing, flying over water, not underwater.
I listen, absorb and carry around and create stories in my mind, body, heart and soul, like a sage, a prophet. A moon mage.
Scribble #12
Comfort is great. But without adventure, endurance, pain, suffering, loss, sacrifice, change, or any kind of journeying and soul searching, we won't recognise comfort as such. And we surely cannot stay in one place of comfort for too long, otherwise what will we learn in life? About ourselves and our own strengths and capacities?
Life is like a pendulum. It swings in one direction and then the other, depending on inner and outer workings. But if you focus too intently on this moving yet directionless time recorder, you may become hypnotized; and sleepwalk so much through life that even if the pendulum stops moving and is in dead center, you may barely notice.
A story filled with love, heart, integrity, trained and worked-for-teachings, suffering, endurance, and understanding of the needs of a nourishing soul - this story is, like a person, worth telling respectfully, and worth remembering for thousands of generations, as long as the earth moves and lives.
Life is like a pendulum. It swings in one direction and then the other, depending on inner and outer workings. But if you focus too intently on this moving yet directionless time recorder, you may become hypnotized; and sleepwalk so much through life that even if the pendulum stops moving and is in dead center, you may barely notice.
A story filled with love, heart, integrity, trained and worked-for-teachings, suffering, endurance, and understanding of the needs of a nourishing soul - this story is, like a person, worth telling respectfully, and worth remembering for thousands of generations, as long as the earth moves and lives.
Scribble #11
"Please guns, please stop. I'm waiting for the shooting to stop. I don't dare to breathe - make them think I'm dead. What have we done to make you want us dead? Guns are everywhere and nameless, just like the people of the public going about our day. We are alike in that way. So why shoot at us? We are nameless and faceless to you. The only enemies are the ones who handle you, who use you. Am I dead? I feel dead. Dead to the world. The world is dead. Where is my family? I'm alone in the dead world.
Silence. At last."
Misogyny, sexism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, ableism, xenophobia, classism - all types of prejudice and bigotry come from a similar, distinguished root. The root of the problem is that the privileged want the entitlement they feel they have to treat marginalised or "other, lesser" groups of people however they want and not fear any reprimands. What they do fear more than anything is change, a revolution. They do not wish to share their privilege and fair treatment by society, and get extremely, irrationally protective of it. Something - a big part of their easier lives - will be taken away, they think. They stubbornly remain part of the very human problem of the invisible groups of people struggling for survival and respect - which the dominant classes themselves started and from which they reap the benefits without even consciously realising it. We only live in one world, and we are all human; different and unique in so many ways. Let's all share, care and love each other for it.
Hatred is destructive. It destroys, takes away and consumes everything, leaving nothing left within and without oneself but emptiness. Rage is an evil weapon with no satisfaction. But love is giving, nurturing, caring, listening, understanding, and forgiving - there us no shortage of love on earth. It is a pure, untarnished cycle that gives and takes, goes up and down, and never runs out and leaves a drought, causing emptiness. Love is the ultimate fulfilment.
Wednesday 10 February 2016
Scribble #10
There are nuns in the cafe. And babies. And people in winter jumpers. The elderly. The adolescents. The relaxed. The sipping of teas. The endless chatting. There are as many people in this dim but animated stop as there is food and drink. The music is terrible, but the chatter and the baristas pouring in the beverages easily drown out that noise.
Tea, coffee, nuns. Tea, coffee, love. Tea, coffee, monster. Tea, coffee, cake? Truly the cafe is the most social of places to sit and recollect. No need for beats; only beans.
Cappuccino. Nut cake. Comfy seats. Soul music (the good music). Coke bottles and glasses, and coffee with the froth building up on top. A little piece of heaven in every cafe.
I love the library. To me it is synonymous with heaven. The quiet, the respect, the levels upon levels of endless reading material. Chances are you will find what you are looking for, even if you yourself don't know it yet, and, as always in life, it is found where you will least expect it to be. Buying books is fun, but borrowing them asks for no money and barely your time - it is the place to be free. Lost and then found, thy name is library. Please, please don't let it fall, don't let this sanctuary die. It will always be like a second home to me, myself and I.
Relax. Read a good book. Or bad book, whatever your tastes and opinions. Any book is magical, and can be found in any magical, labyrinthine place and space. A space of knowledge. Books have power, and light, so never underestimate a library - the most powerful and fully-realised of all space and time occupation.
Books and libraries and book shops are like trees; they grow and grow and become firmer and sturdier in age, and more relevant in time. We need these things to live in and understand this world; to make it a better place for everyone. Try to burn them down, there will always be seeds left to grow back - seeds of ideas, of the past, materials needed to start humanity on the right track to knowledge and preservation once again. A circle of paper and tools. A cycle of the written word.
(The little library cafe is nice too. At least the music's better.)
Why is there a table and two chairs smack in the middle of the shopping mall? Can I sit and write on the table? Big spaces with few people feel and look empty no matter what. No good smells or sounds or anything. Or tastes.
Tea, coffee, nuns. Tea, coffee, love. Tea, coffee, monster. Tea, coffee, cake? Truly the cafe is the most social of places to sit and recollect. No need for beats; only beans.
Cappuccino. Nut cake. Comfy seats. Soul music (the good music). Coke bottles and glasses, and coffee with the froth building up on top. A little piece of heaven in every cafe.
I love the library. To me it is synonymous with heaven. The quiet, the respect, the levels upon levels of endless reading material. Chances are you will find what you are looking for, even if you yourself don't know it yet, and, as always in life, it is found where you will least expect it to be. Buying books is fun, but borrowing them asks for no money and barely your time - it is the place to be free. Lost and then found, thy name is library. Please, please don't let it fall, don't let this sanctuary die. It will always be like a second home to me, myself and I.
Relax. Read a good book. Or bad book, whatever your tastes and opinions. Any book is magical, and can be found in any magical, labyrinthine place and space. A space of knowledge. Books have power, and light, so never underestimate a library - the most powerful and fully-realised of all space and time occupation.
Books and libraries and book shops are like trees; they grow and grow and become firmer and sturdier in age, and more relevant in time. We need these things to live in and understand this world; to make it a better place for everyone. Try to burn them down, there will always be seeds left to grow back - seeds of ideas, of the past, materials needed to start humanity on the right track to knowledge and preservation once again. A circle of paper and tools. A cycle of the written word.
(The little library cafe is nice too. At least the music's better.)
Why is there a table and two chairs smack in the middle of the shopping mall? Can I sit and write on the table? Big spaces with few people feel and look empty no matter what. No good smells or sounds or anything. Or tastes.
Tuesday 9 February 2016
Scribble #9
It is blue and cold. Any colour and mood can be cold, really. I am an imperfect perfectionist.
Be a writer of the wrongs in life. Be a wronger of the so-called rules in writing.
The world is not a toy, nor is it toy-sized. Though some of us play it like it is.
You can't spell the word 'hero' without the word 'her'.
Old diaries are like old friends. When you meet them, you catch up and bring up old memories.
Man stares intently at his bus ticket...
Be a writer of the wrongs in life. Be a wronger of the so-called rules in writing.
The world is not a toy, nor is it toy-sized. Though some of us play it like it is.
You can't spell the word 'hero' without the word 'her'.
Old diaries are like old friends. When you meet them, you catch up and bring up old memories.
Man stares intently at his bus ticket...
Monday 8 February 2016
Scribble #8
Memories can be sweet, and sad.
Music can be pretty, and sad.
Travelling can be exciting, prosperous, and sad.
Family life can be fulfilling, and sad.
Truth can be worthy, beautiful, and free, but sad.
All things have their share of sadness inherent in them. Especially since nothing can last forever.
Forever - the saddest, most deceptive word in our language, created under false pretences.
But in making what we can out of life, by fulfilling it by our own honest means, then the sadness lessens, and can even become a blessing sometimes, when forever ends.
Kids can handle all sorts of things. They can - and learn to - deal with the inevitable facts of life that are hard and scary to face, like death and betrayal. They are born with tougher skins and more sense than we give them perchance to demonstrate. I know, for I was one of them.
I'm sure that when I end up stabbing myself with my pens, it is a subconscious punishment to myself.
Music can be pretty, and sad.
Travelling can be exciting, prosperous, and sad.
Family life can be fulfilling, and sad.
Truth can be worthy, beautiful, and free, but sad.
All things have their share of sadness inherent in them. Especially since nothing can last forever.
Forever - the saddest, most deceptive word in our language, created under false pretences.
But in making what we can out of life, by fulfilling it by our own honest means, then the sadness lessens, and can even become a blessing sometimes, when forever ends.
Kids can handle all sorts of things. They can - and learn to - deal with the inevitable facts of life that are hard and scary to face, like death and betrayal. They are born with tougher skins and more sense than we give them perchance to demonstrate. I know, for I was one of them.
I'm sure that when I end up stabbing myself with my pens, it is a subconscious punishment to myself.
Sunday 7 February 2016
Scribble #7
Teachers can be prophets as well.
Aunts are fairy godmothers.
I am negligent. Often lazy. In the dark, I keep creating so many ideas but I don't do anything with them; they don't manifest outwardly. I'm sure in reality I'm ready - ready to leave fantasy and book land. I will write everyday. I will sort out and trim my ideas, judging which work and which don't.
Aunts are fairy godmothers.
I am negligent. Often lazy. In the dark, I keep creating so many ideas but I don't do anything with them; they don't manifest outwardly. I'm sure in reality I'm ready - ready to leave fantasy and book land. I will write everyday. I will sort out and trim my ideas, judging which work and which don't.
Saturday 6 February 2016
Non-Fiction Book Review - 'Women Who Run With The Wolves: Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman' by Clarissa Pinkola Estés
We are all filled with a longing for the wild. There are few culturally sanctioned antidotes for this yearning. We were taught to feel shame for such a desire. We grew our hair long and used it to hide our feelings. But the shadow of Wild Woman still lurks behind us during our days and in our nights. No matter where we are, the shadow that trots behind us is definitely four-footed. - Foreword by Clarissa Pinkola Estés.
To even attempt to review such a tome as this feels like a sacrilege; a great disrespect to something sacred, omnipotent. For no words - no written language - can begin to convey the wholesome power that weaves within.
'Women Who Run With The Wolves: Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman' is my favourite non-fiction book of all time. It is in my heart as well as my bookshelf; it is my spirit guide; it is a big part of my book lover's life.
Normally I don't read texts that have to do with spirituality and psychology, and this one doesn't exactly call itself feminist (though there are undeniable elements told), but all good scrolls possess inner beauty; in that not only do they keep giving profound knowledge unto their readers (about the world - and themselves), but each reread is a new experience. It is a continuous cycle - stories about unburied treasures, new discoveries of the human mind. These kinds of texts trust readers to think for themselves, and to build upon and reach their own divine journeys.
'Women Who Run With The Wolves' is this kind of experience. It is like ambrosia encased and bound in literature form. It is magical, it is mysticism, it is imagination, it is healing, it is transcendence, and it is transformation. It is an oracle, a mother, a shaman, a forest path into lands unknown. It is a phenomena waiting to be thirsted upon by everyone.
And when that first brilliant nourishment is finished, you realise that life isn't over, it only just begun when you first picked the book up. Never again should you feel compelled to be "normal" and confined in a society which shuns individuality. In any backdrop or province, never feel ashamed to be creative, to be different and an outsider. To be a woman.
To be wild and free. There's no pejorative language here. Let us shake off the various forms of toxic, oppressive shackles, and feel pure as a newborn pup again, in body and soul.
Clarissa Pinkola Estés' masterpiece is about freedom in the human psyche. And about the medicine in stories.
I won't say it will change your life, which would be a lie. It tells you your life is already changing, all the time: It is set to change for your own good, for the wellbeing of your wild, ungrounded soul (which itself never changes). You just need to recognise, by unrepentant intuition, that such power within you has always existed. It wants to be free; and it may tell you so in the ways communicated in dreams.
'Women Who Run With The Wolves' warmly teaches you how to make contact with and set your "Wild Woman" archetype running, fighting and howling. It teaches you to never give up on creativity, to preserve it, to never break down and give in to procrastination and the mundane; and feel self-confident and overflowing with love through and through.
It could help women dealing with depression and anxiety. It could help them to wake up and save themselves, to not live as prey, and be their true selves.
This wonderful codex also contains everything I love: Stories. Analysing obscure fairy tales and fables and their symbols. Animal symbolism. Digging into human psychology, and how the mortal mind works in layers. Exploring the unconscious. Female positivity. Healthy family and friendship positivity. Analysing and feeding the soul and its latent characteristics. Analysing people's relationships with each other, and with life and death.
It is about women and their potential - in a world wishing to cage them like animals.
But all animals, and their instincts, deserve to be free. Such confinement and stigmatisation is not natural.
Even if you are not religious, or don't believe in anything to do with spirituality, read 'Women Who Run With The Wolves'. I may sound preposterous for saying this, but it is impossible for this book not to have a soulful effect - an impact - on people.
Really it deserves no review or criticism. It is an experience.
For that reason, I have decided not to give 'Women Who Run With The Wolves' a score. I firmly, tearfully, heartily believe such things are rendered irrelevant when it comes to this beauty. It is to be held lovingly in hands, arms and paws. It is a teacher whose lessons shall be followed, print by print, sprint by sprint, forever.
While I’m not perfect, and have a lot to learn, and starve still, I feel comfortable in calling myself a wild woman. Hear me howl in the night.
To even attempt to review such a tome as this feels like a sacrilege; a great disrespect to something sacred, omnipotent. For no words - no written language - can begin to convey the wholesome power that weaves within.
'Women Who Run With The Wolves: Contacting the Power of the Wild Woman' is my favourite non-fiction book of all time. It is in my heart as well as my bookshelf; it is my spirit guide; it is a big part of my book lover's life.
Normally I don't read texts that have to do with spirituality and psychology, and this one doesn't exactly call itself feminist (though there are undeniable elements told), but all good scrolls possess inner beauty; in that not only do they keep giving profound knowledge unto their readers (about the world - and themselves), but each reread is a new experience. It is a continuous cycle - stories about unburied treasures, new discoveries of the human mind. These kinds of texts trust readers to think for themselves, and to build upon and reach their own divine journeys.
'Women Who Run With The Wolves' is this kind of experience. It is like ambrosia encased and bound in literature form. It is magical, it is mysticism, it is imagination, it is healing, it is transcendence, and it is transformation. It is an oracle, a mother, a shaman, a forest path into lands unknown. It is a phenomena waiting to be thirsted upon by everyone.
And when that first brilliant nourishment is finished, you realise that life isn't over, it only just begun when you first picked the book up. Never again should you feel compelled to be "normal" and confined in a society which shuns individuality. In any backdrop or province, never feel ashamed to be creative, to be different and an outsider. To be a woman.
To be wild and free. There's no pejorative language here. Let us shake off the various forms of toxic, oppressive shackles, and feel pure as a newborn pup again, in body and soul.
Clarissa Pinkola Estés' masterpiece is about freedom in the human psyche. And about the medicine in stories.
I won't say it will change your life, which would be a lie. It tells you your life is already changing, all the time: It is set to change for your own good, for the wellbeing of your wild, ungrounded soul (which itself never changes). You just need to recognise, by unrepentant intuition, that such power within you has always existed. It wants to be free; and it may tell you so in the ways communicated in dreams.
'Women Who Run With The Wolves' warmly teaches you how to make contact with and set your "Wild Woman" archetype running, fighting and howling. It teaches you to never give up on creativity, to preserve it, to never break down and give in to procrastination and the mundane; and feel self-confident and overflowing with love through and through.
It could help women dealing with depression and anxiety. It could help them to wake up and save themselves, to not live as prey, and be their true selves.
This wonderful codex also contains everything I love: Stories. Analysing obscure fairy tales and fables and their symbols. Animal symbolism. Digging into human psychology, and how the mortal mind works in layers. Exploring the unconscious. Female positivity. Healthy family and friendship positivity. Analysing and feeding the soul and its latent characteristics. Analysing people's relationships with each other, and with life and death.
It is about women and their potential - in a world wishing to cage them like animals.
But all animals, and their instincts, deserve to be free. Such confinement and stigmatisation is not natural.
Even if you are not religious, or don't believe in anything to do with spirituality, read 'Women Who Run With The Wolves'. I may sound preposterous for saying this, but it is impossible for this book not to have a soulful effect - an impact - on people.
Really it deserves no review or criticism. It is an experience.
For that reason, I have decided not to give 'Women Who Run With The Wolves' a score. I firmly, tearfully, heartily believe such things are rendered irrelevant when it comes to this beauty. It is to be held lovingly in hands, arms and paws. It is a teacher whose lessons shall be followed, print by print, sprint by sprint, forever.
While I’m not perfect, and have a lot to learn, and starve still, I feel comfortable in calling myself a wild woman. Hear me howl in the night.
Friday 5 February 2016
Scribble #6
Keep moving. A burst of freedom - run forward; towards, not away. For even in the darkness, you are the unhidden light.
I will not feel embarrassed to daydream in public again. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Dreaming of all kinds shows us we are human.
Gosh, that new, fresh pillow smell...
I will not feel embarrassed to daydream in public again. There is nothing to be ashamed of. Dreaming of all kinds shows us we are human.
Gosh, that new, fresh pillow smell...
Non-Fiction Book Review - 'Enlightened Sexism: The Seductive Message That Feminism's Work Is Done' by Susan J. Douglas
Feminist text published in 2010.
This book can change your life.
'Enlightened Sexism: The Seductive Message That Feminism's Work Is Done' is a non-fiction textbook so powerful, containing analyses so universal and all-encompassing, that it would take an eternity to list every important issue and factor the author touches upon in our media-obsessed culture. It is still relevant, and its subjects ought to bare discussion today.
Susan J. Douglas single-handedly hits home and dislodges the myth that sexism no longer exists, so that pesky old-wave/fad called feminism is outdated, no longer needed, belongs in history books (yet ironically is almost never taught in schools, because a curriculum allowing people to think critically about and discuss gender issues and equality? Oooh! Unthinkable! Too scary).
Just look at all the butt-kicking, smart, independent "strong female characters" (urgh) popularising TV and movies from the 80s to the 21st century - on the surface, fiction loves women, therefore there's absolutely nothing more to be done when it comes to reality.
Look at all the attention women are getting in magazines! Those never-satisfied feminists should be grateful: Their demands are met, so they ought to bugger off now and leave us alone, to die like the dodo.
At least, that's what the white-supremacist, fragile, threatened, pretend-it-doesn't-exist system called the patriarchy wants us to think. In fact, this system may be responsible for making sexism more pervasive, more hostile and hateful to women than ever before. But by using the subtle language of "enlightened sexism" - the illusion that women "have it all" and are "equal" compared to when they obviously weren't in the past, so feminism can take a hike, right? - it makes sexism and misogyny exceedingly difficult to talk about, much less object to. Disrespect towards women - expecting them to choose marriage and children over careers and true independence - is obvious everywhere, if we choose to really pay attention. Bullying, harassing, and even threatening the very existence of the female population (half the human race, remember); moulding us all into an ideal picture of the perfect, young, pure, thin, mostly white (everyone else is either made invisible or stereotyped negatively by the media), sexualized, fetishized, submissive, and caring, magical baby maker...
Woman= object of the male gaze (made straight by default): This is normalised still.
Thanks to the power of the popular, influential, fear-mongering media in our lives, we are being conditioned to think feminism's job is done, to even see it as a taboo swear word worse than the other F-word. To hate it - in the most extreme cases blindly compare it to terrorism. After all, it's all about hairy, bra-burning, man-hating, baby-eating, and totally unfeminine lesbians, right? How could such widespread ignorance have happened, when we look at everything feminism’s accomplished, and how much it has helped us as a growing, progressive society?
Patriarchy is slowly but surely undoing feminism's hard work of the past. It undermines women's fight for gender equality (women who are assertive and on top? gasp! Burn her! Mock her! Because... men are better at everything, for the penis is gospel, as we all know! Not because sexism benefits straight white men in any way! No unresolved issues with women here!). It ignores them, and favours and protects the welfare of men; bringing greater attention to their accomplishments while simultaneously overlooking or downplaying their faults (men are only human, after all, while women... are less human, somehow?). It strips women of their right to hold any sort of power for themselves, and to be taken seriously. It does so by highlighting their perceived flaws ad-nauseam.
Patriarchy reduces women to bodies - commodities to be used and abused - and has their appearances and relationships with men under scrutiny 24/7, Big Brother-style. Anything real, living, breathing women do and say and achieve? Rendered unimportant; nothing is brought up to make them look good, or productive, at least without the benefit/favour of the other, more dominant gender. It is the exact opposite of what generally happens to successful (or even unsuccessful) men.
In truth, behind the scenes, we haven't achieved equality; not in the long run. Overall, it is still viewed that a woman's job is to make men happy.
Read 'Enlightened Sexism' and uncover the patriarchy’s retrograde reassurances to keep white men in power - no matter the cost - and discover the power of words.
In the last chapter, the incredibly observant and intelligent Susan J. Douglas gives us a detailed description of a brighter future; one which benefits everyone. A fair, hopeful vision must come to life in this century, and stay that way.
Final Score: 5/5
This book can change your life.
'Enlightened Sexism: The Seductive Message That Feminism's Work Is Done' is a non-fiction textbook so powerful, containing analyses so universal and all-encompassing, that it would take an eternity to list every important issue and factor the author touches upon in our media-obsessed culture. It is still relevant, and its subjects ought to bare discussion today.
Susan J. Douglas single-handedly hits home and dislodges the myth that sexism no longer exists, so that pesky old-wave/fad called feminism is outdated, no longer needed, belongs in history books (yet ironically is almost never taught in schools, because a curriculum allowing people to think critically about and discuss gender issues and equality? Oooh! Unthinkable! Too scary).
Just look at all the butt-kicking, smart, independent "strong female characters" (urgh) popularising TV and movies from the 80s to the 21st century - on the surface, fiction loves women, therefore there's absolutely nothing more to be done when it comes to reality.
Look at all the attention women are getting in magazines! Those never-satisfied feminists should be grateful: Their demands are met, so they ought to bugger off now and leave us alone, to die like the dodo.
At least, that's what the white-supremacist, fragile, threatened, pretend-it-doesn't-exist system called the patriarchy wants us to think. In fact, this system may be responsible for making sexism more pervasive, more hostile and hateful to women than ever before. But by using the subtle language of "enlightened sexism" - the illusion that women "have it all" and are "equal" compared to when they obviously weren't in the past, so feminism can take a hike, right? - it makes sexism and misogyny exceedingly difficult to talk about, much less object to. Disrespect towards women - expecting them to choose marriage and children over careers and true independence - is obvious everywhere, if we choose to really pay attention. Bullying, harassing, and even threatening the very existence of the female population (half the human race, remember); moulding us all into an ideal picture of the perfect, young, pure, thin, mostly white (everyone else is either made invisible or stereotyped negatively by the media), sexualized, fetishized, submissive, and caring, magical baby maker...
Woman= object of the male gaze (made straight by default): This is normalised still.
Thanks to the power of the popular, influential, fear-mongering media in our lives, we are being conditioned to think feminism's job is done, to even see it as a taboo swear word worse than the other F-word. To hate it - in the most extreme cases blindly compare it to terrorism. After all, it's all about hairy, bra-burning, man-hating, baby-eating, and totally unfeminine lesbians, right? How could such widespread ignorance have happened, when we look at everything feminism’s accomplished, and how much it has helped us as a growing, progressive society?
Patriarchy is slowly but surely undoing feminism's hard work of the past. It undermines women's fight for gender equality (women who are assertive and on top? gasp! Burn her! Mock her! Because... men are better at everything, for the penis is gospel, as we all know! Not because sexism benefits straight white men in any way! No unresolved issues with women here!). It ignores them, and favours and protects the welfare of men; bringing greater attention to their accomplishments while simultaneously overlooking or downplaying their faults (men are only human, after all, while women... are less human, somehow?). It strips women of their right to hold any sort of power for themselves, and to be taken seriously. It does so by highlighting their perceived flaws ad-nauseam.
Patriarchy reduces women to bodies - commodities to be used and abused - and has their appearances and relationships with men under scrutiny 24/7, Big Brother-style. Anything real, living, breathing women do and say and achieve? Rendered unimportant; nothing is brought up to make them look good, or productive, at least without the benefit/favour of the other, more dominant gender. It is the exact opposite of what generally happens to successful (or even unsuccessful) men.
In truth, behind the scenes, we haven't achieved equality; not in the long run. Overall, it is still viewed that a woman's job is to make men happy.
Read 'Enlightened Sexism' and uncover the patriarchy’s retrograde reassurances to keep white men in power - no matter the cost - and discover the power of words.
In the last chapter, the incredibly observant and intelligent Susan J. Douglas gives us a detailed description of a brighter future; one which benefits everyone. A fair, hopeful vision must come to life in this century, and stay that way.
Final Score: 5/5
Thursday 4 February 2016
Scribble #5
Money means nothing. Just what is it worth, in of itself? It makes the world go round. Okay. But if we are to measure someone's whole character and worth based on how much money is on their person, I advise we look at some of the richest people in the rotating world. They have more than they are worth - in character. In fact, they are the poor. They are worth f&^%*ck all.
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