Every once in a while (every year, actually) I purchase a copy of my favorite novel by my favorite writer and make a gift of an awe inspiring tale to a friend. I'm speaking of Charles Dickens, of course. I know, his characters may be somewhat predictable and his villains tended to be highly exaggerated but his themes and cadence have always spoken to me. It's truly beautiful writing and if you've not revisited his works since middle school, I highly encourage you to do so.
Dickens was one the writers that made me want to pick up every book in my youth, hoping that within those covers would be a work of equal worth. Sadly few have met that high expectation. (Larry McMurtry is quite brilliant, as is Stephen King, James Patterson, Patricia Cornwell and Shelby Foote.) As you may have surmised, I do enjoy a diverse genre.
But Dickens? Who can resist the words so perfect they might well never the like be seen again. It has every element of what we strive for in each of ourselves. Self discovery, romance, redemption, selfless love and sacrifice. Carton who is known as "The Jackal" and by everyone's estimation has led a wasted life. Yet in his waning hours, faced with his own mortality, ensures the happiness of the one he cares for, knowing he can never share in the joy. What scifi fan does not recognize his final thoughts of "it's a far, far better thing I do...".
Carton left him there; but lingered at a little distance and turned back to the gate again when it was shut, and touched it. He had heard of her going to the prison every day. "She came out here," he said, looking about him, "turned this way, must have trod on these stones often. Let me follow in her steps." - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.
The beauty of pure, unrequited love sparked merely by another's lingering presence. I wish authors today strived for such excellence. Instead we're treated to the same banality served under different scintillating titles. Gore versus horror, techno-babble in place of genius science fiction borne from imagination. A work should be more than just a thirty second advertisement; it should grab you, shake you to your core and leave you with thoughts of the characters for days, even years afterwards.
A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other. - Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities.
My thoughts for this evening. Thank you for taking the time to read.
HOPE LIVES ON. 1/24/12
"What a wretched corpse hope leaves behind."
I wrote that. Yup, that was me during my "I'm Grim and I write <really bad> brooding poetry" phase. Dark glasses, black on black attire and fearing to make a connection with anyone lest I be disappointed and hurt again. I was actually pretty distrustful of everyone, which often surprises people today.
"I suppose nice guys are lucky to be in the race in the first place." Another one I wrote. Are you seeing a pattern here? I was a pessimist throughout most of my mid to late 20's and I do not mean sort-of or kind of, I mean hardcore.
It's been awhile since I leafed through old scraps of short stories and prose. A lot of it came from a pretty dark place and writing was my outlet for exorcising emotional demons. As I read it again, one thought came to mind.
What a self absorbed tosser, I was.
Hope doesn't die. Hope is something that lives in each of us, whispering our hearts desire of the little things that we may never tell another soul. We may hope for a better life, for the safety of friends, for riches, for health, for love. We never really stop hoping; through disappointment we sometimes simply stop listening. Hope may weaken and grow hoarse but it's still there, trying desperately to be heard. It lives in the corners of memories of days past and in the most remote possibility of things to come. It's a gentle caress of a lover's hand, a sleepy sunrise, shared laughter, a piece of music.
Life isn't easy and it's not supposed to be. Life can be a cold and incredibly lonely place and the journey is going to grind you to your knees at times, there's no shame in being knocked down. It's what you do when you're feeling lost and disheartened that matters. I choose to embrace hope as a beacon in the night rather than a flame by which to burn.
Maybe that which we desire most may never come to pass but there's always hope.
I'm a steward of hope.
"What a wretched corpse, hope leaves behind."
I wrote that. Yup, that was me during my "I'm Grim and I write <really bad> brooding poetry" phase. Dark glasses, black on black attire and fearing to make a connection with anyone lest I be disappointed and hurt again. I was actually pretty distrustful of everyone, which often surprises people today.
"I suppose nice guys are lucky to be in the race in the first place." Another one I wrote. Are you seeing a pattern here? I was a pessimist throughout most of my mid to late 20's and I do not mean sort-of or kind of, I mean hardcore.
It's been awhile since I leafed through old scraps of short stories and prose. A lot of it came from a pretty dark place and writing was my outlet for exorcising emotional demons. As I read it again, one thought came to mind.
What a self absorbed tosser, I was.
Hope doesn't die. Hope is something that lives in each of us, whispering our hearts desire of the little things that we may never tell another soul. We may hope for a better life, for the safety of friends, for riches, for health, for love. We never really stop hoping; through disappointment we sometimes simply stop listening. Hope may weaken and grow hoarse but it's still there, trying desperately to be heard. It lives in the corners of memories of days past and in the most remote possibility of things to come. It's a gentle caress of a lover's hand, a sleepy sunrise, shared laughter, a piece of music.
Life isn't easy and it's not supposed to be. Life can be a cold and incredibly lonely place and the journey is going to grind you to your knees at times, there's no shame in being knocked down. It's what you do when you're feeling lost and disheartened that matters. I choose to embrace hope as a beacon in the night rather than a flame by which to burn.
Maybe that which we desire most may never come to pass but there's always hope.
I'm a steward of hope.
So I've found out that my cousin (Let's call him Floyd in case he discovers the "portal to the intenetteds" and I would hate for my rant to embarrass him.) is now married. Floyd. The man who would offer to eat oddities for beer money. The man who never met an itch he wouldn't scratch in public and who once said to me "David Lee Roth don't need them Van Halen assholes."
Don't get me wrong, I'm actually pretty happy for Floyd and if he's found someone whom he loves and loves him in return, that's a beautiful thing. I'm not jealous or resentful; it's just difficult to put my initial reaction into words.
Just... Floyd?!?
I was counting on Floyd. As the only other bachelor in the entire family (Not including "Earl" who can now get married in several states), Floyd gave me a cushion. I had padding. I had time and a distraction to all of my aunts, elders and married friends. "Go pick on Floyd, he's not married either!"
Yes I verbally kneecapped Floyd on more than one occasion. If you knew my family, you would too. Don't judge me.
Oh the devious machinations this will put into motion.... Thank goodness the holidays are past so I do not have to fear the "fix-up, the set-up and the mix-up" for awhile yet. (See my October 2010 'He's Single' entry for details.)
I don't really have much contact with my father's side of the family anymore but I can practically smell the smoke from the phone lines crossing the country, from the Southland to central California back to the Southland and finally to here.
"Floyd got himself hitched. When is Grim going to get married??"
"He's too old to still be a bachelor!"
"Is he catting around? Fornicator!"
"Well you know how they live out there, they're all hippies."
"I will put his name on the church's prayer list and we will pray for his wicked, wicked soul!"
And so on... and so on...
Basically Floyd just made my life a little more difficult for the interim. So if you see a child with overly large gums, permanent baby teeth and hair in places no human should have growth, that'll be my new second cousin, Floyd Jr. or little Floydette.
And all kidding aside, Floyd is really a terrific guy and will make a heck of husband. He's loyal, trustworthy and generous. I really do wish him all of the happiness in the world.
Damn it.
Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, Life goes on.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
