IT´S RAINING AGAIN
After a draught that made our throats hurt and our eyes long for something wet, something less bright than those clear sunny days, the rains have come. The grass is proudly green, so green that you think it has been painted by some crazy entity during our sleep. The fruit trees show off their great number of leaves and blossons; the fruits already in course have gained weight and shape, like women who became pregnant. The birds seem to be very busy, flying here and there, changing their places and types of food. Nature is vigorous, renewed and stronger than before.
What about me? What do I need to feel renewed and stronger? And what is it that makes me feel so small and unimportant? I should be happy and gay, now that I don´t have to complain of the desertlike atmosphere. I should be starting projects, having new ideas, filling my days with optimistic thoughts, but I´m not. I try to look inside me, and all I can see is a melancholic scenery of nothingness. I feel like … waiting. Wait for what? I don´t know, I just know that I have to wait. I think it´s raining inside of me, too; that´s why I have to wait . Wait for the rain to wash down the false hopes, the exaggerated optimism caused by the brightness of the clear days with beautiful sunrises … Then I´ll probably be ready for real life.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
Thursday, October 14, 2004
Who´s going to do it?
Who´s going to do it?
Reading Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley, was a good surprise for me. First of all, the name sounded like the monster´s name, not the cientist, I mean, I thought Frankenstein was the monster. And then the fact that the monster was at first a creature in search of love who became a monster because everybody rejected his ugly appearance. All this was new to me. I had seen the monster so many times in movies, killing and frightening people, that I could never conceive his painful existence.
Mary Shelley herself is a strong character, being the wife of a famous writer who became eternal, after all, for being her husband. She must have been special, sensitive and clever. The book made me think of many things, like inadequacy, prejudice, loneliness, but it led me to some odd reflections on Mary Shelley´s intentions. Strange or absurd as it may seem, I think that she didn´t tell the true story of doctor Frankenstein, or maybe she did, in a symbolic way. She described sensations and feelings that were the most important things in the story and disguised the situations that wouldn´t count. I dare say that she did it on purpose, leaving the true story for some to understand, not for all. Or maybe she couldn´t even do it, at that time.
Frankenstein was gay, he was in love with his school friend, (remember that the guy´s father didn´t allow him to go to college with Frankenstein when he left home?), he never really cared about Elizabeth because he didn´t love her , and, in my opinion, the monster was a symbol of his struggle against the current prejudice of his time. If you take a good look at the story you can see that everything fits.
I think the story could be re-written, just as an exercise, just to honor Mary Shelley´s memory and importance and to demonstrate that we got the message. Who´s going to do it? Who´s going to hang the bell …?
Reading Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley, was a good surprise for me. First of all, the name sounded like the monster´s name, not the cientist, I mean, I thought Frankenstein was the monster. And then the fact that the monster was at first a creature in search of love who became a monster because everybody rejected his ugly appearance. All this was new to me. I had seen the monster so many times in movies, killing and frightening people, that I could never conceive his painful existence.
Mary Shelley herself is a strong character, being the wife of a famous writer who became eternal, after all, for being her husband. She must have been special, sensitive and clever. The book made me think of many things, like inadequacy, prejudice, loneliness, but it led me to some odd reflections on Mary Shelley´s intentions. Strange or absurd as it may seem, I think that she didn´t tell the true story of doctor Frankenstein, or maybe she did, in a symbolic way. She described sensations and feelings that were the most important things in the story and disguised the situations that wouldn´t count. I dare say that she did it on purpose, leaving the true story for some to understand, not for all. Or maybe she couldn´t even do it, at that time.
Frankenstein was gay, he was in love with his school friend, (remember that the guy´s father didn´t allow him to go to college with Frankenstein when he left home?), he never really cared about Elizabeth because he didn´t love her , and, in my opinion, the monster was a symbol of his struggle against the current prejudice of his time. If you take a good look at the story you can see that everything fits.
I think the story could be re-written, just as an exercise, just to honor Mary Shelley´s memory and importance and to demonstrate that we got the message. Who´s going to do it? Who´s going to hang the bell …?
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