Nineteen Eighty-Four

The art about the teeth falling off really stuck to me. The torture was fine, but somehow the teeth thing struck hard.

My lake house

It started with Olaf suddenly appearing,
To which was replied "some friends are worth melting for; for the others, just let it go.... let it goooo"

A clenched hand with an upward thrust thumb
A "Like", rather,
Turned sideways so it looked like it pointed inwards instead..
To Mario, with an "M" on his cap.

Mario's "M" was replaced with an "L"
So away Mario went.

That "L" became the beak of a bird, looking at the shells of an egg.
Out of the shell sprung a baby dinosaur,
"That awkward moment you realize you wife is cheating on you"

That baby Dino had a papa Dino,
Overlooking the hot air balloon they had forgotten to tie up.

"That awkward moment your wife was in the basket and it doesn't matter anymore"

There were scoreboards for voting,
Stories of animals that lived on the table.

Kind of how Song of Ice and Fire started with turtles.

Talks of future hopes,

Occasional gifts laid out to take.







Yes, I have learnt to miss someone I have never met.

Save me.

The heart wants what it wants

Don't play with her heart, she only has one.

Nineteen Eighty-Four

They are arranging to meet; somewhere a long train ride away. He was so excited by the touch of her hand that he could recognise it by sight even though he had only held it once.


How people fight to have what they are not able to, yet take for granted what they have in abundance.

I guess I was just part of a collection.
On the shelf now, forgotten.
Looked upon, from time to time.
But only a memory,
Of what was once a prize possession.


I guess that's where it started wrong.

Nineteen Eighty-Four

I was hoping that part II was the same story, retold from the dark-hired girl's point of view. And then perhaps part III of Syme, or even Mrs Parsons.


I guess that is the beauty of such novels. So many endless possibilities, so great in feeding the mind.



Amazingly, such reading has started bringing forth my trusty pot.

It struck a chord. Indeed it did.

An empire wasn't made great by the men who stayed home, working nine-to-fives, and washing their cars on weekends.


They were made great by those who had the opportunity of comfort, of privilege, of stability, and yet they decided they were capable of struggle. And they fought more than for the homes they returned to.

Nineteen Eighty-Four

I'm at that part where Syme talks about the destruction of words. Winston is horrified that his friend, though seeing the adverse affects of erasing vocabulary, of annihilating choice of words, can describe his understanding of how it helped Big Brother to control society.

Limit the words, limit the thinking.

And I look now helplessly at the real society I live in. Where abbreviations are abundant, where repetitive jokes are laughed at for hours on end. Where name calling is as deep an insult as one is capable of.


And I think now to how at a loss for words I have been. How the words used to pour out like steam from a boiling kettle.



The pot!



That heat I so strongly tried to put out. That "Happy" that I was seeking. Is it killing my words?




Read.

Out there, somewhere....

It's not about not feeling..

I remember, not too long ago..when there was no "Happy". Think of a pot on the stove. That was how it felt. All the time. Sometimes you had just turned off the gas, sometimes you had just switched it on. No matter how good things were, all you could do was to switch off the heat; or maybe just turn it down. There just wasn't any "happy".


It wasn't because there wasn't reason, there were plenty. But maybe, just maybe... it was because the pot just couldn't move from that stove.


It boiled over, simmered, cold down, heated up,.... day in, day out. There just wasn't any "happy". So today, when I had to drag myself out of bed an hour after getting home from work, having to have woken up five hours earlier than I usually do before work; all in all being up for almost 24 hours with only an hour and a half's worth of sleep, drive 30 minutes away to find it impossible to park, clamber up through a maze of offices, then having to stand three hours in line with a grumbling stomach,



I had a surprise.



I could still find "happy".




"Happy" was there watching the siblings squabble and play together.
"Happy" was there pondering where all these people were getting themselves to.
"Happy" was there looking at people clucking their tongues away in discontentment and knowing I had no rush for the day.



But no, the pot wasn't gone.


It heated up as the people started to grow impatient.
It simmered as the girl in front kept pushing herself into my face no matter how I backed away.
It bubbled as this guy was obviously trying to cut ahead of me.



But "happy" was there.



"Happy" kept the pot from the boiling over. "Happy" watched over as the pot simmered and sizzled.





"Happy" was there.