Read and Roll

 picture download from www.absurdrepublic.blogspot.com

Read and roll and fly.

Still Life with Woodpecker

Yum – it’s a fucking love story

Still Life with Woodpecker is not just “a sort of a love story” as suggested by its writer, Tom Robbins. It is a love story through and through as it threads the overflowing love of individuals expressing and experiencing it in different ways and in different circumstances.

The story revolves around two characters that came from opposite sides of the life spectrum in almost all aspects of their mortal life and the itsy bitsy idiosyncrasies of freaky individual characters in the sidelines of their world stage.

Leigh Cheri Furstenberg-Barcelona, a princess whose exiled parents, King Max and Queen Tilli, does not give her much choice but adapt to the American way of life. Leigh Cheri, the exiled princess who learned her life lessons quite early experiencing two abortions and being kicked out from school that led her to a celibate life and offered her service to help mankind through alternative lifestyle and being a future Ralph Nader groupie. (I have always been fascinated with Ralph Nader, the forever alternative candidate for the U.S. presidency. Last time I saw his shit was on MTV typing in an old school typewriter.)

Then there is Bernard Micky Wrangle, a.k.a The Woodpecker. The all-black clad Bomb expert. Anarchist. Outlaw extraordinaire. Lover of life and what ever it has to offer. The two met in Hawaii when Leigh Cheri’s lady-in-waiting Guiletta saw Bernard a.k.a the Woodpecker lit the dynamite fuse that wrecked a portion of the place where they were to attend a hippie cum new age type of conference. It was there where love struck them both melting their cold articulation of what love is into a “Love Kills” segue that made Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen get-off their fucked up world.

The Woodpecker sharply articulates his anarchist view of causing incidents, explosive most of the time, literally, to forward his protest against anything that has to do with what is happening in the world. His dynamite talks and the woodpecker walks. That’s what made Leigh Cheri unlock her chastity belt and offer everything she can offer the outlaw.

The outlaw can light his dynamite stick, shove it up his ass for show, but not to out mind his heart over what he felt and what he wanted, and that is not just Leigh Cheri’s ass, but her heart as well. He pursued her, just as she wanted him to be beside her all the time that led to his arrest. Wanted by the pigs, Bernard wanting to make love stay brought him to the pigsty.

It was during the times when Bernard was in the lam that made Leigh Cheri discover her potential for thinking freaky thoughts and theories by her meditating on a pack of Camel cigarettes. As a sign of her truthful love to the outlaw, she carbon copied her outlawed lover’s jail cell and lived just like a convict inside a cell, not going out, not going in, not going anywhere except inside her mind, and heart.

Just as Princess Leigh Cheri was planning to save Bernard the outlaw, she received a letter from the motherfucker spouting shit on her alleging that she capitalized on their love relationship as love struck people would also lock themselves up in clear imitation of what Leigh Cheri, the heir to the throne of the Furstenberg-Barcelona royalty, did for the sake of love.

A pissed Princess can do crazy stuff and that she did. She went out for her billionaire admirer and asked that a pyramid be made in honor of her before she weds him. Of course it was not a platonic relationship, dimwit. She learned to use her beauty and sex machination to maintain the steady flow of money, and liquid sex juice she deeply yearn to cum from the woodpecker. She was able to separate sex from what love really should be until she learned the death of the woodpecker that was able to leave prison by virtue of her lady-in-waiting Guiletta’s whim to release him. Guiletta by twist of fate was actually the next-in-line to the throne of the small kingdom! She is the older daughter of the King from his chambermaid or something. Anyway, Woodpecker was apparently killed somewhere in Algeria when he tried to follow Leigh-Cheri and rescue her from her vicious tragedy.

But it was not the case. By some dumb luck, the Woodpecker was actually alive and even met Princess inside the deepest chamber of the Pyramid on the eve of her wedding. No shit! Of course they tried to argue about the letter, about the camel pack, about the pyramid, but love, ah, love made them see through each others’ bullshit and made them hug. Then the jilted Arab saw them, and locked them inside the pyramid. They escaped in the end. Thanks to the ever present dynamite the outlaw carries almost wherever he goes.

Tom Robbins’ novels always, always reminds me of Ely Buendia and the Eraserheads’ witticism in writing lyrics to their songs. Almost all the Eheads album had that hippie flair consistent with Tom Robbins’ books. Both Robbins and the Eheads’ playful psychedelic shit bring thoughts of mescaline peyote induced hallucinations. Even Ely Buendia changed his name to Dizzy Ventura for sometime, a very suitable name for a Tom Robbins book. But it’s not about the Eheads, or the music scene. I just don’t know how to end this spiel, so here it goes.

Wrapped up in Books

Belle and Sebastian singing inside a library. Where the hell is the librarian?

reading lethargy

I have been meaning to write a new blog entry but I just cant get my thoughts organized. So much for parenting and work and cooking and shit. Ive bought a couple of books to be read but has not started reading reasoning out loud that I should cover it first. I got Nick Hornby's Fever Pitch and some not famous authors but shows promise reading from their respective blurbs.

Finding time to read when there is none is a joke. I sometimes steal time reading while in transit but it easily zaps my already spent energy. And the sad part is, I am actually not doing shit at all but still feel tired.

I try to recall the last book I was reading until lethargy crept in. Was it 31 Songs by Nick Hornby or the Che Guevara book written by his companero, Alberto Granado?  My brain entered the 'more stupid' mode even before I returned the two unfinished books at the library. Even '31 Songs' failed to shake my incoming stupor.  Could alcohol deficiency be the culprit for this low reading intellectual stimulation shit?  I tried to recall the book I read a couple of months ago, Easter Rising by Michael Patrick Macdonald but could not even write a start up sentence.

Its time to beer.

Please Read a Book

I am a strong advocate for book reading due to my sincere belief that if more people will read, then more people will be enlightened, and ahh, er, will buy from my fledgling book mongering business. I sell books for people to be enlightened, have wider knowledge and perspective, help humanity, and ahh, er, for beer and cigarette money.

Here is a video that knocks at the soul of every sensitive human being. Humbly sincere, and respectfully meaning to spread the joys of reading a book. I believe every book lover should post this in their internet social networking accounts to reach the biggest number of people in our quest for a better world through book reading. 

Thank you very much.

Respectfully yours,

Wind-up confusion

I am boggled up after winding up reading The Wind-up Bird Chronicle of Vintage Murakami. I thought his name is Haruki but I will leave it up to him if he wants to be called in his another name, Vintage. But I am a bit bothered that people might not recognize the writer so I will call him Haruki Vintage Murakami instead based on the book cover.

It must be the effect of Mr. Murakami’s book that made me think this way.  Anyway,

I was checking out the newly renovated library where I teach and chanced upon “The Wind-up Bird Chronicle” lying there on a table waiting to ambush a curious reader that happened to be me. I checked on the blurb at the back and thought of the possibility of holding a Murakami while riding the train and people seeing me reading it intensely making me look like a genius thus raising the bar of my image to people who I will not meet again for the rest of my life.

So much for self-image, I borrowed the book and immediately got into the groove enjoying the first few chapters dreamily imagining Japan and the apparent gentle ways of people living their lives. The author generated that serene and mindful atmosphere in the house while not negating the underlying conflicts between the married couple that progressed to a mind boggling end. It greatly reminded me of the film “Lost in Translation” with its subtly quiet way of sending messages to the viewers.

The main character, Toru Okada, is a thirty something law graduate waiting to take the bar or something and unemployed giving me the impression that he is a slacker that keeps the house in order while his wife, Kumiko, works as an ad executive.

The story started with their cat missing and ended with his wife, his brother-in-law, some of his friends, and my sanity missing. The story was a rollercoaster ride for me that crossed between the realms of imagination turning into reality, and reality becoming the imagination of the main character.

Kumiko left him due to her admitted adulterous ways that left Toru more baffled than angry. He then met May Kasahara, his chain smoking, beer drinking teenage neighbor who related well with him in his struggles with his life and attempt to win back Kumiko. It was May Kasahara who I think made Toru Okada survive his ordeals in dealing with the problems in his head, or life, or heart through her presence in his life. 

Kumiko's brother, Noboru Wataya, is a polemicist (somebody who blabbers non-sense a lot but people listen and thinks he is a genius) and a professor who is also a hotshot public figure but has something evil lurking in his heart. The word defilement comes up again and again in the book as he defiled his sisters making the girls' life miserable. One committed suicide while Kumiko, as the story hinted, became a nymphomaniac. He also defiled a character named Creta Kano that made her  turn into a prostitute seeking revenge. Noboru Wataya was killed by Kumiko in the end as a revenge for her defilement that turned her life into bollocks.

While I can somewhat connect the stories on what is transpiring in the life of the main character, there also seems to be a disconnection somewhere when it starts telling stories of Toru Okada meeting up some characters in another world, with all its, I do not want to call it magic, but queerness in the events and situations, then meeting these characters again in the ‘normal’ world. I do not want to dichotomize the character’s thoughts because it is supposed to be his chronicle but I got confused trying to tie-up segments of the book. The book, divided in three parts, is a series of stories, or a chronicle, that should be connected logically to reach a logical end, but got me more confused.I guess trying too hard to connect the stories ended with my disconnection.

I have too much supposition as I read the book that, in the end, defeated the purpose of fully enjoying the creativity and genius and the beauty of Haruki Vintage Murakami's prose. I was windang (Filipino word for confused) as the wind-up bird as I closed the last page of the Wind-up Bird Chronicle. 

the curious incident of the dog in the night-time

I just finished “the curious incident of the dog in the night-time" by Mark Haddon just now. Like a minute ago. The laptop is running as I sit in front of it finishing the last pages, so that’s how I did it.

I liked the book. It reminded me of Forrest Gump and his worldview.  The book, written in a first person perspective, is heartwarming that gives one a view of looking at things in a positive way, whatever shit is happening on the road to kingdom come.

The autistic person’s life and his struggles and his pains and the people around him with their struggles and pains weaved tightly that they cannot just let go off each and everyone of them. It is like the math done by the fifteen year old autistic character that connects his own world with the outside world through his problem solving and algebraic expressions helping him to achieve calmness and focus in the fucked up situations people around him enter for a fuck.

The death and life of Charlie St. Cloud

Ben Sherwood. Ah. I’ve been meaning to read his “The Man who ate the 747″ but got “The death and life of Charlie St. Cloud.” Its a fuckingly great love story it made me pause and wonder how he got that story off. Very creative and really did his research on possible life in the afterlife and even went out of his way to get the feel of being a gravedigger.

Set in a quaint town I forgot (but it is a real town and was pictured as it is), the poignant story revolved around brothers who promised not to leave each other, but shit happens and one died. The other stayed but got the magic power of seeing spirits and playing catch with his dead brother then got involved with a girl caught in between worlds.It is an easy read, light for the heart, and a good companion when you are in the loo, all alone, quietly defecating.

Cutely adorable and a bit mushy with a dash of suspense and excitement, Ben Sherwood made my toilet meetings truly a treat.

Everywhere We Go

I got fucking tired reading this book about senseless violence in “Everywhere I go (behind the matchday madness)” by Dougie and Eddie Brimson. The book, however, authoritatively discussed the hooliganism prevalent in football crazy Brits and their counterparts in other European countries. 

Each chapter focused on the different aspect of football's hooliganism and how it thrives and being imitated in different parts of the world. The book does not sound apologetic to the phenomena of hooliganism but lacked in explaining the psychology behind it. But I guess it is not the intention of the book but to just to tell stories of matchday madness in the pitch, terraces, and the streets. 

Fucking "off" (the term they use for those brawls against opposing fans) they go after games in the name of their ‘reputation.’ It is a non-fiction book that will bring you to the forefront of these hooligan fights by the different ‘firms’, or football fan groups, trying to put a life into their otherwise freaking boring society. It suddenly came to me this notion that their society is so boring that they resort to such shits. But it could also be a stupid generalization that I normally resort to when I am tired of rationalizing the violence in this world. I could discuss in length though the necessity for an armed revolution in the Philippines.

I even watched the Elijah Wood starrer “Green Street Hooligans” just to check on the "off" scenes and searched the youtube for some real life “off.” It was a good film seeing the cute hobbit being battered blue by football hooligans.

It was crazy alright. And it got me interested in football. 

  

(First posted at www.bookmongers.wordpress.com February 10, 2010)