Saturday, August 27, 2011

Atlas Shrugged

"Happiness is the greatest agent of purification."

"On her way through the plant, she had seen an enormous piece of machinery left abandoned in a corner of the yard. It had been a precision machine tool once, long ago, of a kind that could not be bought anywhere now. It had not been worn out; it had been rotted by neglect, eaten by rust and the black drippings of dirty oil. She had turned her ace away from it. A sight of that nature always blinded her for an instant by the burst of too violent an anger. She did not know why; she could not define her own feeling; she knew only that there was, in her feeling, a scream of protest against injustice, and that it was a response to something much beyond an old piece of machinery."

"But there were times, like tonight, when she felt that sudden, peculiar emptiness, which was not emptiness, but silence, not despair, but immobility, as if nothing within her were destroyed, but everything stood still. Then she felt the wish to find a moment’s joy outside, the wish to be held as a passive spectator by some work or sight of greatness. Not to make it, she thought, but to accept; not to begin, but to respond; not to create, but to admire. I need it to let me go on, she thought, because joy is one’s fuel."

“It was they who wished to hold him, they who pressed a claim on him - and they seemed to have the form of affection, but it was a form which he found harder to endure than any sort of hatred. He despised causeless affection, just as he despised unearned wealth. They professed to love him for some unknown reason and they ignored all the things for which he could wish to be loved. He wondered what response they could hope to obtain from him in such manner - if his response was what they wanted. And it was, he thought else why those constant complaints, those unceasing accusations about his indifference. Why that chronic air of suspicion, as if they were waiting to be hurt. He had never had a desire to hurt them, but he had always felt their defensive, reproachful expectation they seemed wounded by anything he said, it was not a matter of his words or actions, it was almost . . . almost as if they were wounded by the mere fact of his being.

"He could not condemn them without understanding and he could not understand.”

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

The Hard Way

Best news of the day:
FINALLY checked Atlas Shrugged out of the library! Can't wait to finish
the 1066 glorious pages.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

Some things aren't meant to be controlled or changed

WELL hello there, my lovelies.
The world is good now. Watched Rise of the Planet of the Apes this morning, completed all levels of the Tower of Hanoi up to 8 disks, and am listening to Beirut presently.
Let's discuss the inaugural statement.
AS usual, James Franco is perfection, and Andy Serkis is omnipotent... I was blown away by him, really. Freida Pinto was alright but she has nice eyes.
I thought the film had a lot of heart -- how there is a mind in everything and animals can rebuke the control of humans. It also throws the dangers of science into a portentous and capricious perspective.
The ending of the movie struck me hard, I found it touching.
AND of course, after seeing the Lucas Tower in the film, I had to go home and try it out, and once I got the pattern, everything else went smoothly.
Lastly... when is Beirut not perfection?

Wednesday, August 17, 2011

"You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true,

And unafraid of toil"

Back because I promised I'd be!
BACK on Pottermore! It's shame Wizarding Duels is down for
maintenance. Anyway, it's great. You go through different chapters from
the first book (the other books aren't up yet) and from each you get a
collection of interactive images -- meaning you can zoom in on them, and
most importantly, click around to see what you find.
Example: I was clicking around on the second chapter, on the image
"The Cupboard Under the Stairs," when Harry's alarm clock lit up with
a purple aura and a little black tab, labeled "Collect," appeared. I clicked
on it and it was added to my trunk!
I also got an owl -- a Tawny owl, but I don't think I can name it. It's the
username for my avatar, though! And a wand, of course... I said I'd post
the details of my wand here, but I can't log into Pottermore, again, it's
because of a silly glitch.
From what I can remember, it should be:
10 and 3/4 inches, Slightly yielding, Silver Lime, Unicorn core.
Something like that!
You also get to brew potions which requires patience because it doesn't
always work, unfortunately, and you have to wait a while when it brews.
But all in all, I'm so glad to be on Pottermore -- I think I was among the
first batch that got sent in as Beta testers!
... AND I got let back in!
Here's my wand:
Length: 10 3/4 in
Wood: Silver Lime
Core: Unicorn
Flexibility: Slightly Yielding
Looks like I got it right! I know my wand, my lovelies. Oh yes...

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Don't follow your head; follow your heart

Was brooding about in front of my computer when struck by the urge
to blog.
Listening to 'The Head and the Heart,' which can easily become my new
favourite band. It's so lovely.
SO, the exciting news is I was finally able to enter Pottermore. My hands
were trembling so bad, especially when being sorted. Turns out I'm a
Hufflepuff -- was rooting for Gryffindor all along, to be honest. I grew up
reading about the Gryffindors, and I love them. I suppose Hufflepuff's
alright! After all, Tonks was a Hufflepuff herself! And Tonks is golden.
Pottermore is every bit as wonderful as I predicted, I'm having the best
of fun. Can't access it now, though. It's making routine updates so I
suppose I'll just have to wait. When I can get back in, I'll tell you lovelies
which wand chose me. Regrettably Hufflepuff is fourth right now -- come
on, guys, we want that House Cup don't we?!  Promise to post more
about Pottermore when I can get back online! Glad I got my access before
school started -- don't think I could manage to put homework first under
such a heavy temptation...!

I get lost in my mind.

Friday, August 12, 2011

The impression of that loveliness

Read this today and found it the loveliest piece of poetry my eyes have roved upon this week. Fueled a decent mind-exercise as well!

Fragments from the Alfoxden Notebook (1)

There would he stand
In the still covert of some [lonesome?] rock,
Or gaze upon the moon until its light
Fell like a strain of music on his soul
And seemed to sink into his very heart.

Why is it we feel
So little for each other, but for this,
That we with nature have no sympathy,
Or with such things as have no power to hold
Articulate language?

And never for each other shall we feel
As we may feel, till we have sympathy
With nature in her forms inanimate,
With objects such as have no power to hold
Articulate language. In all forms of things
There is a mind.

Of unknown modes of being which on earth,
Or in the heavens, or in the heavens and earth
Exist by mighty combinations, bound
Together by a link, and with a soul
Which makes all one.

To gaze
On that green hill and on those scattered trees
And feel a pleasant consciousness of life
In the impression of that loveliness
Until the sweet sensation called the mind
Into itself, by image from without
Unvisited, and all her reflex powers
Wrapped in a still dream [of] forgetfulness

I lived without the knowledge that I lived
Then by those beauteous forms brought back again
To lose myself again as if my life
Did ebb and flow with a strange mystery.

The human bond with nature and its ability to inspire and sooth the mind is defined in the very first passage. It is a topic covered and expressed in a majority of Wordsworth's poems -- the beauty and loveliness of nature, its omnipotence, and its serenity. The link humans share with nature is one I treasure and constantly feel. In truth, it is more than a connection; it is a mighty combination, "bound together by a link, and with a soul which makes all one."
For me, whenever I catch sight of a stretch of sea, expanse of sky, meadow or hill of greenery, ray of sun, field of flowers, or the radiance of the moon (the list goes on, my lovelies), I experience more than merely a visual examination from the eye -- in my heart, a mental contemplation of life and its mysteries is evoked -- and suddenly the planet seems more sublime and lovely than it did before, and I feel more blessed and alleviated as well.

In other words:
When surrounded by nature at with all its beauty and wonderment, I "feel a pleasant consciousness of life in the impression of that loveliness until the sweet sensation called the mind" wraps me in "a still dream of forgetfulness."
Tried to phrase that best I could to match the meaning from the poem.
The second and third passages really made me think. I pursued the web  for more information and this is what I gathered.  Just because we have the power to hold articulate language does not mean we reign in power. Nature, with all her beauty and mysteries is forever omnipotent on this earth. We need to sympathize with it and treat it with the love it deserves, for we cannot treat nature with the emotions we treat each other during our mundane conflicts. "In all forms of things there is a mind," even "in her forms inanimate" that have "no power to hold articulate language." "Never for each other shall we feel as we may feel, till we have sympathy with nature in her forms inanimate."
Our life truly does "ebb and flow with a strange mystery."
Well, that was rather verbose, but I hope I got the points across. Just my opinion on this lovely poem, my lovelies -- you may think otherwise! It truly is magnificent.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Pray for London

Photography Graphics, Tumblr Photography
London is in jeopardy!
The country is a mess -- rioting and looting at every bend and corner.
This post is dedicated to the victims that have died, been injured, or
are in the vicinity of the danger. I hope that the rioting will end soon,
life in London will be restored to its usual state, and that the city
shall radiate again -- not with fire, but with peace.


1. inspiring reverence or admiration; of supreme dignity or grandeur; majestic: an august performance of a religious drama.
2.venerable; eminent: an august personage.

I really want to write, but I have to get going... major points:
1. What was up with the Bieb's face when Glee won?!
2. The E string on my violin broke... again... depressed.
3. My mind is in clutter. Would normally write to clear it up, but I simply
haven't got the time to spare now...

Sunday, August 7, 2011


About to go play Disney Monopoly with my family, playing as Dumbo as
I expect you lovelies to be rooting for me...

Saturday, August 6, 2011

Hogwarts will always welcome you home

Must confess I'm not in my preferred state of contentedness presently, but on a more propitious note:
1. I've updated my mixpod, and I'm now reasonably happy with it.
2. Glee 3D comes out next Friday! Not in my vicinity, annoyingly, but I'll acquire it from the ever resourceful internet.
3. Rise of the Planet of the Apes IS coming out shortly in my vicinity, and I've got to admit I'm very excited for it!!
Just a message for all you lovelies...

Anyway, I've decided to write down more of the quotes I've collected and stick them around my room and desk area! Excited for this project!
And, here's the quotidian quote:

"Albus Severus," Harry said quietly… "you were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts. One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew."

"But just say –."

"– then Slytherin House will have gained an excellent student, won't it? It doesn't matter to us, Al. But if it matters to you, you'll be able to choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. The Sorting Hat takes your choice into account."


"It did for me," said Harry.
My mom's talking about re-watching Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (we have it at home). I'll probably be sobbing uncontrollably, shafts of salt tears splashing down my face. Especially when the theme song comes, on, oh my.

Friday, August 5, 2011

The fire grows higher

Sour resignation is less touching than impatience for what will not be, than the eagerness that has to wane and wither. -- A.V. Laider by Max Beerbohm

Why don't you come on over, Valerie?

I'm taking a little break here. I've switched from the alt-rock I was
listening to earlier to this indie folk -- not that I didn't enjoy what I was
listening to earlier, but because I'm yearning  for something more mellow.
This is one of the songs I tried to put on my mixpod, but wouldn't play.
It's lovely...

Another song I'd like to share:

Being the Gleek I am, I naturally got quite jumpy when I saw this -- Naya Rivera's amazing.
Her voice contrasts from Lea's or Amber's but it has it's own unique quality as well!

You Are A Tourist

When there's a burning in your heart
An endless yearning in your heart
Build it bigger than the sun
Let it grow, let it grow
When there's a burning in your heart
Don't be alarmed

Thursday, August 4, 2011

Palpable Pulp

Firstly, I'd like to explain the title. I cannot recall when, but some time ago I was thinking about alliteration and the word 'pulp' when the phrase 'palpable pulp' circumstantially popped into my mind.
It has curiously settled itself there every since.
At the time, I didn't know the dictionary definition of 'palpable,' so the phrase made perfect sense to me -- not so much now, though. Unfortunately, upon finding out what palpable meant,
1. readily or plainly seen, heard, perceived, etc.; obvious; evident: a palpable lie; palpable absurdity.
2. capable of being touched or felt; tangible.
3. Medicine/Medical . perceptible by palpation.)
the phrase didn't seem to click quite as soundly. I still like to think it makes sense in a curious, imaginative way, though. It's a phrase I've wanted to use dearly, but never chanced to in any recent occurrences.
It seemed fit to use it on my blog though, as this is my 'digital sanctuary,' open to my many imaginings and ideas... which is lovely, isn't it? :)

Part of a little something I wrote the other day. Didn't turn out very well, but these two paragraphs did (I edited them a bit to fit in the context for a reader who is oblivious to the story's contents):

As incertitude initiates invention, myths regarding the unknown will inevitability begin to sprout over time.
The younger population whose minds are enlightened to imaginative possibilities believe in magical prospects, while the majority of the adult population that have long lost their fictive mindset sensibly conjecture dull and commonplace liabilities.
All mysteries remain encouragingly manifested by the many myths they motivate. Although many yearn to know the truth, whatever it may have been is soon abdicated – for the skeptics and suspicion aroused by the curiosity of the matter do naught but spawn superstition, which later substitute as a publicly persuasive, but fabricated verisimilitude.

Finally, here's the most beautiful piece of poetry I've read all day:

An extract from The Ruined Cottage
by William Wordsworth

I well remember that those very plumes,
Those weeds, and the high spear-grass on that wall,
By mist and silent rain-drops silvered o'er,
As once I passed did to my mind convey
So still an image of tranquillity,
So calm and still, and looked so beautiful
Amid the uneasy thoughts which filled my mind,
That what we feel of sorrow and despair
From ruin and from change, and all the grief
That passing shews of being leave behind,
Appeared an idle dream that could not live
Where meditation was. I turned away,
And walked along my road in happiness."

He ceased. By this the sun declining shot
A slant and mellow radiance, which began
To fall upon us where beneath the trees,
We sate on that low bench. And now we felt,
Admonished thus, the sweet hour coming on:
A linnet warbled from those lofty elms,
A thrush sang loud, and other melodies,
At distance heard peopled the milder air.
The old man rose and hoisted up his load;
Together casting then a farewell look
Upon those silent walls, we left the shade;
And, ere the stars were visible attained
A rustic inn, our evening resting-place.
I've taken a even huger liking to Wordsworth -- his description of nature and the way he writes about how it pacifies and heals the heart is beautiful. I love to read his poetry.

That's all! Goodnight, my lovelies. Going to go stalk Pottermore (for my friend (;).

Monday, August 1, 2011

In an interstellar burst, I am back to save the universe

Recommended Read: Putois by Anatole France
Photography Graphics, Tumblr Photography
Officially have early access registration to Pottermore! YES.