An avid reader of
this blog( RingWatcher034) suggested that I make a post about my
self-improvement. Bellow, is an unordered list of self-imposed rules
I try to follow as much as possible. I shall elaborate on each of
them in coming posts. What self-imposed rules do you live by? Comment
bellow!
Be humble and
respectful
Show love and
appreciation(especially to those close to you.)
Always smile
for it doesn’t cost a dime
Be calm and
patient
Avoid
envy,instead set, focus and work on your own goals
Do not lie
(unless it benefits the person who’s being lied to)
Be firm and
equitable in matters of justice
Do not rush
in decision making
Embody the
change you seek to see around you
Embrace
change and diversity
Learn from
your cradle to your grave
Read a lot
(preferably on different topics)
Avoid
idleness, waste and extravagance at all cost
Be confident
Share your
knowledge
Be kind and
gentle
Always do
good and expect nothing in return
Avoid
short-term thinking
Accept
constructive criticism
Avoid
cowardice and ambiguity
Travel as
much as possible
Talk to
people for it is the best way to learn
Regularly
question yourself for that is the key to self-improvement
I got bored and picked up a book
to read, 678 pages long, and well packed.
The story was typical, boy
falling for girl. I like those stories.
The boy did everything boys do to
get girls attention in romance novels.
You know how it rolls. It was a coup de foudre the first time they met.
Then on page 347, the girl died.
I closed the book and found the
writer’s email.
I wrote to her,
“Dear Ms. J.
I‘ve read part of your novel and thus far I have
hated everything I liked about it. Your writing is lyrical, your plot is catchy
but I could not get over page 347.
The death of the girl pained me a
lot. The boy worked hard to get her love and finally when he got it, the girl
died. I guess you tried to mimic somehow Romeo and Juliette but Shakespeare ‘Killed’
those two at the end of the play. You killed yours at the middle, right when
the reader hopes pours like water from a fountain. I do not know why you killed
the girl on page 347, maybe she will return to the boy in her ghostly form or reincarnate
in another girl. That is all fine but I will never be able to finish your novel
after the girl’s death on page 347.
This is no criticism of your craft (you are
actually the first author I have ever emailed) your story is good but you could
have ‘killed’ the girl a bit later. You could have allowed the boys efforts to come
to fruition.
Best regards,
Mory
”
Ms.
J replied two days later (I did not think she would pay attention my email.)
“
Dear
Mory,
I am glad you sent me this interesting email. Thank you
for reading my novel.
Your inability to read past page 347 tells me a lot about
you. Hypothetically speaking, if you
were the boy you would have been stuck there after her death. Your problem is not the
book it about your emotional state…
J”
I leaned
from reading a book something that I may have never learned about myself. Till this
day I haven’t been able to read past page 347.
He firmly stood atop a giant skyscraper in downtown New York, observing the streets, contemplating the empire of peace he has created. An empire ruled by him, king of kings, Monarch of monarchs, Caliphs of caliphs, and God of gods- him the Punisher. As he walked down the crowded street, his name was constantly hailed by ignorant, fearful simpletons, “All hail the Punisher, we are thy humble servants." He glorified himself for bringing chaos, which he called peace, along with his demonic steps. He called dictatorship, democracy, chaos, peace and the world, his eternal kingdom. To symbolize his supremacy over the city, he replaced the head of the status of liberty with his own and placed his giant status atop the Empire State building.
But behold! His reign of terror was to come to an end when I,Mory,Thor, god of thunder rebelled against him. I went to his “celestial palace” one early morning, defeated his guards with my godly fury. Then, I shouted at him “Give up, the punisher. Your reign of terror is over".
" Terror?" he replied mockingly “I bring peace to this world and the people like me."
"Come out of your cage, fight me coward if thou are deserving of thy name." I furiously yelled at him.
" Prepare to confront my fury", he instantly replied.
He suddenly threw his smelly body upon me and we began fighting. After endless hours of intense fighting, I finally smacked him with my mighty hammer and thunder stroke him. He perished like a vulture. With rebellious bravery, I brought real "peace" to the world and vanquish forever chaos.
Since that memorable event that defined the faith of mankind, humans are still hailing my name “All hail Mory,Thor, our Savior."
Note: This is piece of writing is purely fictional. To learn more about Thor,encourage you to click here to read the Wikipedia article.
Till her charming prince delivers her from the wicked spell.
Then,when she wakes up from fairyland she sees no prince.
A classic fairytale she lives in her sleeps,
Awake a modern tragedy she experiences.
She reads poetry; listen to it, like her bible.
She imagines herself in John Donne’s hands,
While he recites that poetic melody in her ears,
The wind transporting sounds of her name to the ears of
Envious sirens in Neptune, the sun sweeping her face.
She wishes she was a Byron’s or a Poe’s lover,
Or at least one they fancy in their poetic dreams,
And write about lines unheard, unwritten by men, lines such as:
Vois-tu mon amour le soleil qui brille ?
Écoutes-tu la chanson des pigeons volant ?
Ils envient notre bonheur, notre amour.
She fancies that lady, that “mon amour”,
She wishes she could find the whirl of space- time,
She years to travel to the romantic era,
She desires to fall in love with the Victorians,
The Shakespeares and the likes of Caspar Davis Friedrich;
With her fairness she would seduce the romantics,
She would make them write poems, novels and paint,
Paintings like never before, with a passion molded in romance.
She pray that men could rise above sexual fantasies,
She aspires to become an art, an inspiration.
Alas! her aura of romance is but pathetic fancy,
For romance, as she wishes, is but a joke to modern men.
She pities the dullness of our era, this unromantic jungle.
This epoch without castles, dungeons and princes.
She is bored by this world without fairy, witches and happy ending.
She misses the romantics maybe because of her naiveté,
Or she had been rocked by false tales of quixotic lovers,
Or perhaps, she is simply some lunatic, a mind living in fairyland.
I too pity her much, much to sympathize.
Though I am not a Tennyson or Byron or a poetic heart,
Nor I am Don Quixote , Don Juan or a chivalrous prince,
I too feel lost in this materialistic universe of ladies.
We both are lost in romance like sad clowns on stages.
Brief history: i wrote this in response to another of my poem The jerk because i thought i had generalized too much. Shared with the one stop poetry community.
Give me my life, hand me my destiny.
For Long have I endured your dullness,
But you met me with despairs.
Give me my life, give me my future.
Your dullness is of unpleasant taste,
Let me explore new horizons, let me shine.
Sun smiles, clouds dance in the blue sky,
Birds’ sing, wind blows, earth has shaken,
The blue ocean of knowledge lays ahead unexplored.
Do not retain me---let me sail off your shore.
I dream of noble deeds and epic adventures,
And you yearn of earthly delights.
Then, let our routes diverge after this odyssey,
Let my name be etched amongst stars,
Let me passionately molds my world,
Let me seek knowledge beyond the horizon.
For, unless his deeds transcend the ages,
A man’s existence fades compared to eternity.
Now, give me my life, let me shape my destiny.
Though you and I are bonded for life,
Our path resembles that of two lone clouds.
The world, as we see it now, is the work of some visionaries.The absurd imagination of some crazy-old-fools who hundreds years ago, idly sat on their chairs to ponder upon humanity. They dedicated their lives to philosophy and sciences; then, scholarly came up with theories and system of belief to better mankind and eradicate its self-imposed misery.
Though, their philosophies are of unequivocal beauty, they are prone to change as humanity evolves steps farther. Ideas are but works of mind and the mind is but a conscious characteristic of the human race (the same can also be extended to every other race). Mankind in its current situation, which is characterized by unceasing warfare and destruction, needs more crazy-old-fools and fewer vile warriors who undermine the power of intellect in pursuit of brute force. When we separate ourselves from our God given intellect, we became lesser than animals and return to the dark ages.
The world as I see it now is evolving towards an age darker than the dark ages itself. Some of you might qualify me as a pessimist, but if we analyze our history (as far as it is recorded), we will realize that , we live in one of its worst centuries. The twenty first century stunningly resembles the fictional world of Uqbar in Jorge Luis Borges short story Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius (which can be found in Ficciones, his collection of short stories). Borges describes uqbar as a place where everything is pure fiction; by that I mean, in uqbar things are falsification of reality and the "reality" is but a part of a greater false perception. The similitude might perhaps not be apparent because, we live in an uqbar. We feign that we live in a peaceful world while we are not. We live in a myth created by a group of oligarch serving theirs egoist interests.
To summarize my thought, mankind needs more crazy-old-fools and fewer warriors. We desperately need more people-of-mind dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge to advance our common goal. I do not advocate for a utopian society, as it is unfeasible. I will elaborate on this issue in future posts.
Here is a poem of the great French writer , philosopher and poet, Victor Hugo's " On vit,on parle". This poem's beauty reside in its simplicity and its humorous tone.
the last three lines of the poem are particularity very striking. It basically speaks about life hills and valleys, its beauties and sorrows.I hope you enjoy it as much as i do.
On vit , on parle... By Victor Hugo
On vit, on parle, on a le ciel et les nuages Sur la tête ; on se plaît aux livres des vieux sages ; On lit Virgile et Dante ; on va joyeusement En voiture publique à quelque endroit charmant, En riant aux éclats de l'auberge et du gîte ; Le regard d'une femme en passant vous agite ; On aime, on est aimé, bonheur qui manque aux rois ! On écoute le chant des oiseaux dans les bois Le matin, on s'éveille, et toute une famille Vous embrasse, une mère, une soeur, une fille ! On déjeune en lisant son journal. Tout le jour On mêle à sa pensée espoir, travail, amour ; La vie arrive avec ses passions troublées ; On jette sa parole aux sombres assemblées ; Devant le but qu'on veut et le sort qui vous prend, On se sent faible et fort, on est petit et grand ; On est flot dans la foule, âme dans la tempête ; Tout vient et passe ; on est en deuil, on est en fête ; On arrive, on recule, on lutte avec effort... -- Puis, le vaste et profond silence de la mort !
Ulysses is most certainly my favorite poem. I hope you will enjoy it.
Ulysses
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Matched with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drink
Life to the lees: all times I have enjoyed
Greatly, have suffered greatly, both with those
That loved me, and alone; on shore, and when
Through scudding drifts the rainy Hyades
Vest the dim sea: I am become a name;
For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honoured of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough
Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move. How dull it is to pause, to make an end, To rust unburnished, not to shine in use!
As though to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to me
Little remains: but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself, And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the scepter and the isle
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfill
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and through soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centered in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,
When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled, and wrought, and thought with me
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads you and I are old;
Old age had yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end, Some work of noble note, may yet be done, Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are,
Well, I have been called "Anti-social" in numerous instances since my early childhood but for those who really know me, most will say that I am just shy. Am I shy ? maybe. I personally believe that my primary motive for stranding myself from humans is just a question of philosophy - a natural philosophy. Most of us are busy with their look , falling in love, and finances instead of contemplating the majestic beauty of nature.
I have always been a philosopher, a nature lover; i guess that is the reason I am dedicating my life to sciences and mathematics. Above our heads are countless stars, parallel universes and even black holes. Isn't fascinating to see trough nature?
You may ask yourself , " is this guy reasonable ?" ; no , I am unreasonable and do not seek to appear reasonable. I am a rebel. As the famous English writer and philosopher, Gorge Bernard Shaw famously remarked said "the reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man."Thus , let me be myself and let history follow is course.
Why don't I talk a lot ?: The unreasonable unmasked.
Posts
