I've been reading a fair bit of Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights.
To me it is a work of singular power and fortitude. It is a testament to all that Emily represented in her life, a turbulent sea of emotions she could only fully express in fiction. Heathcliff and Cathy reside in the heart and mind of the reader because they erect in their union a pillar of the imagination, some hidden, absolute, validation of the soul. Byron was perhaps Emily's greatest influence when writing Wuthering Heights (as was Milton) and his poem 'The Dream' is perhaps what inspired Emily in the creation of literature's most striking, and unparalleled characters:
Our life is twofold; Sleep hath its own world,
A boundary between the things misnamed
Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world,
And a wide realm of wild reality,
And dreams in their development have breath,
And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy;
They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts,
They take a weight from off waking toils,
They do divide our being; they become
A portion of ourselves as of our time,
And look like heralds of eternity;
They pass like spirits of the past - they speak
Like sibyls of the future; they have power -
The tyranny of pleasure and of pain;
They make us what we were not - what they will,
And shake us with the vision that's gone by,
The dread of vanished shadows - Are they so?
Is not the past all shadow? - What are they?
Creations of the mind? - The mind can make
Substances, and people planets of its own
With beings brighter than have been, and give
A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh.
I would recall a vision which I dreamed
Perchance in sleep - for in itself a thought,
A slumbering thought, is capable of years,
And curdles a long life into one hour.
( I saw two beings in the hues of youthCollapse )
I have an obsession with Mordred.
Its not something I articulate often. I have various interests that occupy my time, and so up until now my love for this traitorous bastard son of King Arthur has been guarded safely within myself.
I rarely find a good book, and even more rarely find a book that encompasses all that I desire of it. I've never read a book about Mordred that I found wholly satisfying...there has always been an element of some kind missing, some small detail that makes up the whole of my vision of this exiled prince. He's written either too sympathetically, or too malevolently. He's either a demon, or an angel, a victim, or a fiend, but never never as complex a being as I imagine him to be.
Mordred, Bastard Son by Douglas Clegg has changed the face and history of Mordred for a new generation. There have been similar Mordred's in cinema and literature, but they have always been fractured. This book is about a "whole" Mordred, told from his perspective. Perhaps he's of a biased opinion, but if anyone really cared about such a thing they could never read anything narrated by The Vampire Lestat...All works are of a biased opinion, this just happens to be Mordred's, and it's captivating.
This is by no means a review, I haven't read the book, just the first chapter, as I can't afford to buy it yet. What I have read on the other hand is enough to tell me what I want to know, and gives me enough incentive to know that I need this book, and that it's everything I want in a book about Mordred.
It appears that Mordred understands what he has done, feels a bit of remorse, knows his fate is doomed, and is haunted by a past not entirely of his own making. The best part? He was in love with a Knight of the round table (and yes I said a KNIGHT) though I won't give that away, go and find out for yourself.*winks*
Meanwhile here's an excerpt, and the author's website.
Thanks to something Jonathan Rhys Meyers said, my love for Arthur Rimbaud has been rekindled.
For those who don't know much about him:
A movie about his life:
( some of his poetryCollapse )
A brilliant boy, with a brilliant soul!
I'm working on a fic right now.
I don't know where it's going, and I'd like some opinions.
It begins as a 15th century erotic tale about an Italian artist who (in his desperation to carry out a comission) hires a local youth named Dioneo di Angeli (crudely translated "Angel of Lust") to model for him.
Dioneo(being the charismatic and alluring young man that he is) arouses the artist's most hidden desires, catapulting him into a web of temptation and deceit. A tangled sexual relationship ensues, though it complicates the life of the artist and his muse. After a few paintings and sketches however, Dioneo is summoned to court, and the artist is left to deal with his conflicting emotions alone. His paintings on the other hand are quite prosperous, and the artist becomes quite renouned in the city-state powerhouses of Venice and Florence.
A year later the artist is also summoned to court, where he finds the youth Dioneo has become the servant of a wealthy courtier. The boy is now shared amongst the noble's friends in an almost courtesan-like fashion. The artist is driven into a state of passion/jealously, and deciding to take matters into his own hands, puts his own reputation, as well as Dioneo's, at risk.
It ends (as far as I know) on a bittersweet note, with Dioneo being set up in an arranged marriage to a young florentine girl.
The artist is filled with grief, and must live out the rest of his days in sorrow and regret.
This is all libel to change though.
( and now for some visualizationsCollapse )
Is there any way I could improve this?? Atleast before I get too deeply into it?
I saw this last weekend with my friends, and it seems to have left quite an impression on me.
It's one of the more beautiful films I've seen in a long while, and it's seeming faults (it's length, the lack of dialogue) are what to me make it so transcendent.
A lot of people can make a movie about American History, but can they make an artform??
Anyway the movie isn't about the History of Pocahantas, I daresay it's not about Pocahantas at all...It's about a girl who's life is shrouded in myth, and all the little "truths" at the heart of that myth.
What was it like in 1607 America? I mean really like. Well we weren't there, so can we really know? Historian's can pick the era apart, and still they don't really know.
They didn't smell the air, or taste the brine, or feel the earth around them...We have no real sense of time in comparison to how it really was. This movie comes very close to showing us, and by the end...I think I could almost feel it.
See that's what The New World was about. It was about quiet, and about feeling the earth around us. The earth tells us a story, her history, and maybe in that knowledge we can learn the truth about our own history.
I can go on about the cinematography, about the score, and the costume design...but I'd rather wax poetic about Q'orianka Kilcher.
She was a revelation!! No one, not ONE person anywhere could have not done what she DIDN'T do.
She didn't boast, she didn't lie, she didn't steal anyone else movements, anyone else's idea of who Pocahantas was, she didn't even steal from Pocahantas!! She simply embraced into herself, the archtetype of a girl who may have been...She could have been any girl, from any time, or culture or world. She became this girl, swallowed her whole, and released from herself the image of the Goddess on earth. That's all. Now tell me who else could have even attempted such a thing, who wasn't a pure and radiant 14 year old girl.
Yeah...perfection.( beauty withinCollapse )
To me, in her representation of Matoaka/Pocahantas/Rebecca she became the "Sara Crewe" of the Americas. No matter what happened to her, she remained true to herself and everything that was a part of her. She suffered loss, and deprivation, and the decimation of her very world, and yet she arose from it all...victorious.
That's what the last five minutes of the film represented. An exhilerating and rapturous symphony of light, beauty, sound, and abstract images that created the after image of what true freedom is...The absolute understanding that when all else falls away, we may still remain ourselves.
That's sheer beauty, and to me if a film can express that then it's done it's job...
Well my internet is out of commission for a while, but I'm still working on a few things may be posted sooner or later:
I've been listening to a lot of Loreena Mckennitt (surprise surprise) and my thoughts have been lingering on ruined castles, mysterious cloaked strangers, solitary landscapes, and nighttime magic bringing about things hidden and unseen. I'm caught between two worlds: That of Mordred (and his Daddeh drama) and that of an OC who is a Warlock with a mischievious smile...
Who to stick with?? Dunno, I love both!! Since my characters are so different, I'll try my best to drabble both...we'll see.
And so until then I leave you with some Tennyson:
Now Sleeps the Crimson Petal
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
I've just recieved a web space account and so I'll be creating a site to correspond with this journal.
I'll be trying my hand at graphics as well, and hosting them there.
Whatever I drabblize here, I'll finalize there...just to make things neater.
So everyone will be getting sneak peeks of whatever I start writing here, and then they'll be able to read the finished product there.
Now I just have to get busy writing!!
I'll keep everyone posted, and share what I have soon.
In the hair dark-waved the face lay white
Another artist I've recently been introduced to is Gustave Moreau, and I find him utterly inspiring!!
His symbolic art has an almost mystical and ethereal air, and his ideal of the male form is fantastic. The perfect blend of both masculine and feminine: The Perfect Androgyne.