tragedies are for the noble ones ...

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suna

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''Aristotle distinguishes between tragedy which depicts people of high or noble character, and comedy which imitates those of low or base character (ch. 2). Renaissance scholars understood this passage to mean that tragic characters must always be kings or princes, while comedy is peopled with the working or servant classes, but Aristotle was not talking about social or political distinctions. For him character is determined not by birth but by moral choice. A noble person is one who chooses to act nobly. Tragic characters are those who take life seriously and seek worthwhile goals, while comic characters are "good-for-nothings" who waste their lives in trivial pursuits (Else 77). ''

suddenly i feel like a hero >=o...
*lifts up her shinai (bamboo sword) and poses*
*shinai hits the fan and sends down a shower of dusts...*


n303s.jpg
 
done on 21 sept 2006
didnt check grammar for nothing, any mistakes do blame on the fact that english is my second language

LAST DAY OF LUNAR GHOST MONTH

Well, that’s right, this year we have two ghost months, two July in lunar calendar… and today is the last day, my roommate told me just yesterday, before that I did not know.

Things won’t come back, never, I know it, exactly.
Just like the polluted earth will not go back to its original phase, no more rich rain forest, no more vast clean sea, no more undisrupted sky, no more cruel but lively wild world. Humans are like gods, altering the world.

I felt oddly sad, lying on the bed and cried. Well, this is the nth time I guess. Memories are lethal weapons to me. But the sadness will not last long, just like before. Occasionally I find the small girl sitting right at the corner of the dark little room, staring back at me with her accusing eyes. Yet I have done nothing, nothing wrong.


WHITE DEATH



Everything just fades away, like wind blowing across a figure made out of smoke. It just melted into the thin air, never come back, and after a long time it would settle down in a rain of fine powder on the earth covering lands and seas…

So how long have I walked? Along this way, alone?

The earliest memory was that I lived in a small wooden house with two other me, happily. I remembered few things, just as time went by, they became less and less like me… or I discovered that I was becoming different from them… why? Why things were going so foreign that I could no longer recognize… there were many new terms, new meanings, new name, complicating the simple perfect life I had…

I was becoming less defined, for the substances that constructed me could no longer indicate my identity. I was making one of my own… and so were the two other me… so we became…different… or… I could distinguish differences. Before, there were only me and the world, now…there were me, them, and the world…

Then, there was the splitting.
The house was tore down by the conflicting identities, no more harmony, no more unity—just plain desire that had been hidden but now surfaced—the desire to separate.

So, we were never meant to be together… cracking the one world we had share is the only way out of this torment… so we agreed to walk different directions, so we never meet again. When the decision was made, all things disappeared, the house, the trees, the lake, all vanished, leaving behind a white sandy world, with three rivers flowing to three different direction, originated from the half dried pond…

Did I make any mark while I was walking? If I turn back now, will I be able to find my little dark room? Will I be able to find who I was before I cross the hazy border of good and evil? Or, at least, could I ever remember the shape of the smoky figure… that simply vanished, yet still exist, and hide somewhere ahead of me, covering my world, hovering in the air, whispering my fate.

I looked around before, drew up the curtain and gazed. And I was welcomed… as nothing foreign. I was excited to walk out of the daze white sandy world of mine, just beyond that curtain, laid a different world. I stood at the window frame, breathing the air of a new world, tasting the sweet smell that was tempting me to go on. Then there was the whispering, wordless, faint, yet firm—calling me back, to my world, the one with white sand, endless rivers, and no day and night. No, I said, I need to go, I would be happy there.

But the whisper was persistent, repeated till perhaps eternity ends.

So, you said I would not be able to survive outside this world… you said I can be that fragile.

Somehow, I feel that the other two, are in that world that I am not familiar with… or… were they made in that world in the first place...? and they… entered my world? Called me up from my slumber?... gazing down with such soft smiles on their faces, faces identical to mine… What are these memories? It was when? It was… … a dream… for sure… I guess…

Am I not in a dream now?... what about the nameless river that leads me to somewhere I do not know?... will it just lead me somewhere that’s the furthest from them?...

And one day… I can no longer remember when, I picked up something from the shallow river, a green stone, shining brilliantly under the night-less sky. I kept it with me, and it has always been warm to me, not like the cold sourceless white dazing light… that is keeping me escaping…

I always wonder, beyond what I am seeing, the total whiteness, is there night, is there something other than the white sand? Is there something changing after all, if I run back now, will I see something totally different? Or... was there a cliff, cutting my way back… like a warning, to some forgotten fatal memories that laid behind me…which should not be revived.

There was then an elevated land, my river made a right angle turn at the side of it. I wondered what was behind that barrier… and I climbed up, betrayed my river. Then… I was surprised to find my trees, I walked on, I found my lake, I walked on, I found my house… exactly like the one I had… and to my horror, I heard myself… in the house with two other me…

I was frightened and I ran all the way back, searching desperately for the river, rolling down the slop of the white sand, felling into the shallow river, squeezing my green stone, seeking some warmth that would drive away my shivering…

How much, have I forgotten?... how many pieces of me… have dropped on my way here?... am I the larger piece, or only a small part of what I was?...

Suddenly I realize that the smoky figure was me, falling into pieces, blown away by the wind, melting into the thin air at that ancient time when I started my journey…I recalled my face, I was looking at my own face when I collapsed… I touched my own face, what did I look like?...

Whisper, whisper…

Who are you?... If you are me, who I am?...
Anyway, I picked my pieces left up from there, and walked on…




So how long have I walked, how far have I gone, alone…



-I m everywhere, I m in pieces-
-Which me did you meet just now?-
 
While your work is obscure, I am able to understand most of what you have said.
I appreciate it.
I also found your shinai joke to be very funny. :)
 
Styx said:
While your work is obscure, I am able to understand most of what you have said.
I appreciate it.
I also found your shinai joke to be very funny. :)

o.o really...
o really...
i didnt realize that...

and while i dont understand a single thingy i wrote you could o.o!
lemme know what you understand about it then i ll appreciate that.
hardest thing in the world is to decode yourself i guess?
 

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