'If I Met The First Man On Earth'

If I met the first man on earth -
not that I will, for I am one of the twenty-first century,
and we have not learnt yet how to trace back
through time -
I would ask him what his name was
 first. Who

was his creator?
Was there any at all?

Would their limbs resemble my own,
like a brother resembles
a brother or
like a thorn resembles a rose?
At least I would know
if the bible were true to its word
and if everything I'd ever known and
believed in was a lie.

Questions would bloom on his lips,
decaying in their curiosity
and leaving the sour taste on his tongue: what
are we to become? Will my
actions determine that? Will I
live long enough to see your
generation or will I die,
to be buried by my children's hands,
with whose own death I will be
forever forgotten?
And if

I told him what his sons, daughters,
descendents were to
become and what they
will do and what they
could do, would he weep
with guilt or
would he scream, petrified? For
the earth is on his shoulders
and how could bone, flesh,
held by all but each other, stand
and live beneath such weight?
Why don't

you end it, right
now, I might ask him. Save
the world from the
putrid greed that grows in so many
it reaches the clouds. Clouds
that reach mountains we have
reached. Reached so high we
salivate for the possibility of flying
in the black vacuum of space pricked
with dim stars, over and over and
over again. We will suck our
home dry, until it becomes a glassy,
limp prize, like an insects body, wingless
in the lonely night. Why not save
all those souls, fiery in kilts and glittered
armour, blind with glory - yet deformed with
violence? Why not save those lovers and wives,
estranged and lost as knives without sheaths, their
cheeks streaked with tears over pearl and brown flesh over
bones that creak, with age for the old and
for the young, that they cannot speak with the grief? Why
not save those tortured spirits in the ocean, to become
slabs of meat on the cold wooden deck
of a ship, that will travel to retrieve
slaves in shackles that draw blood, blood
that will be swept up nonchalantly? Why
not save those butchered animals, betrayed
by their masters as lambs to the slaughter? Why
not save those punctured hearts? Why not
save

Me?

'That Flying-Dust'

Perhaps, I think I should start off with, I will
never be a good poet and
perhaps I will never write poetry.
It's another butterfly I
cleave onto. I know the
magic dust will smear off onto my fingertips with
the first touch, though.
Just like the time
in Freya's garden, the girl next door, when we
clapped our hands around the blurs of yellow and
red and black, purple, and blue; a crushed wing,
a dislocated stem-like leg, whiskerlike antennas torn,
and a silence tainted by
guilt would fall on our chests
and we would drop the body. Pretend
it had never happened, even when at
night, in bed, I would roll my fingers over
the dusty, musky powder, as
though I'd been handling a gun. I would fall
into sleep, guilt evaded and peace found,
the temporary peace one finds in ignorance, Ignorance
is bliss, they will say, but the bliss never lasts, like
the paintbrush in my hand fell out
of my grasp
like an autumn leaf, old, rotten in water,
my mind cold and bruised
after being beaten for imagination,
whom Bastille takes out for tea
Perhaps I'll see them one day
the two of them
talking
from the shadows
and see their, Imagination's, face
write about the creases by their eyes
the music of their voice
the gleam of their lips in the
summer light, animated with words of
inspiration
that I never gave birth to,
never carried in my arms
and loved and cherished
but glimpsed in snippets
from my finger-smeared window,
at trees silent as me
and a sky just as
empty. They never helped.

'New Times Roman'

New Times Roman
I have lonely hands
Plucked from my body.
And the words are gushing out my wrists.
Yes, I know there's no way back
'cause the flow ain't gonna slow down...

Down...
Down...

New Times Roman,
Cuts into the page.
I will myself to open,
Maybe it will come with age.
New Times Roman,
I let my will be broken.
And now there's nothing left to open...

Oh, tried tying my hands in prayer,
But they still don't work.
Guess the Lord could have a different path for me,
One that isn't so vain.
I've said it 'til my tongue's gone dry.
Why the pain, the strain?
What do I have to do?

New Times Roman,
I need to make something new.
I see you cut into the page,
And I will myself to open.
Maybe it'll come with age.
New Times Roman,
I let my will be broken,
And now there's nothing left to open.
There's nothing left to open...

Words have slain,
Words have swayed.
That's all said and done.
The only thing I'm afraid of is absence,
That there's nothing on the page...

New Times Roman,
I'm begging for something new.
Oh, you're cutting into the page,
But not into me...
Don't think it's gonna come with age,
Because I lost the key.
New Times Roman,
I let my will be broken,
Now there's nothing left to open.
Nothing left to open!
New Times Roman,
I let my will be broken,
Now there's nothing left to open...

'In The Morning'

Feelin lost in time,
Think I invested too much,
in the wine of the keyboard.
Being stuck,
is the worst thing,
when you know you've gotta go,
And I know,
I've lost home.

Itchy dresses, concrete feet,
whiny voice, and it's all retreat.

Well I've come to accept that it's not my fault,
and no one else's.
Just gotta live it out,
Buy a little house,
Cleanse the keyboard,
Fix my head.
Oh...
And I know,
I've lost home,
but I'll be back in the morning.

Singing sad tunes,
Seems such a waste of time,
Would you prefer it if I sang the blues?
Do I have to make this rhyme?
Got no more sense,
Got no nonsense,
just me.

How do you love yourself,
when you don't even know them?
Should we marry, should we befriend?
But she's all I got, so
Leaving the lights on behind me,
You can follow, see,
Where I go,
it might be home...

Itchy dresses and leaden hands,
Whiny voice, not knowing if it's a choice...

Well I've come to accept that it's not my fault,
and no one else's.
Just gotta live it out,
Buy a little house,
Cleanse the keyboard,
Fix my head.
Oh...
And I know,
I've lost home,
but I'll be back in the morning.
I'll be back in the morning.
I know I'll be back, in a thousand mornings,
or one.
I've lost home. But I'll be back...
in the morning.

'The Frozen Lake'

I am drawn to him like a moth to a flame
His voice is sweet poison, drawing me close
I wonder, was it like this when he first came along?
I am breathless, even when he goes
I am lost in the need of him
Rendered a blind slave
Is my love a sin?
But it's too late

I was always the thorn, never the rose
Only pain can be given out by me
And inside I am bro...ken
And in vain I will try to be
something he could love

I am a frozen lake
And my love is dragging me down through the break
I was in a dream
now I'm awake
You could never love me
It would be a mistake

Sometimes I wonder, could I have stopped it?
Perhaps from the start
 he was catching my heart
before he dropped it
Oh, I am lost in need of him
lost in this maze of mirrors
why does it sting
that I can't wake his heart
When I've already fallen apart?

I am a frozen lake
My love is dragging me down through the break
I was in a dream
now I'm awake
I am awake
I am awake
Now I can't escape
Oh, could you ever love me?
Do you ever need me?

I was always the thorn, never the rose
Only sorrow I will give
And inside I am broken...

And I'm a frozen lake
My love is dragging me down through the break
I was in a dream
now I'm awake
I am awake
I am awake
Now I can't escape
Oh, could you ever love me?
Do you ever need me?

'Alone'

Maybe we're all the same
Maybe we're all game.

I don't want to be alone
I don't want to be alone
Time crawls by
so slowly
and the thoughts
they fly
oh, they're so lowly.
filled with wishful thinking
euphemisms
and poetic linkings
why, ah, why
do I freeze beneath the breeze
that we call life?
I don't want to be alone.
I do not want to be alone.

I'm sorry
if I am so on edge
I know we're in the eye of the storm
and this quiet
is just a warning
I can't loosen my grip
I don't want to be alone

Haven't you guessed: why?
The skin you see
hides parts of me
and the day runs through it
Lies take a long, long time
to die.
Oh...
I don't want to  be alone.

I don't want to be alone
(I need you)
I don't want to be alone.

'Burn Down'

The edges of my vision are running away
The sun is down
But I am too awake
Tried driving up town
But you’re always around
Always around
Always around…

Yeah, I tried lighting the candles in this house
But you hate the light
You don’t wanna be found
You don’t wanna be found…

But can’t you hear the night?
They said it’s chasing you down
Tearing down the trees
Shedding this light
They’re creeping closer
I can see
They’re rippin’ your clothes off
What you gonna do, baby?
They’re rippin’ your clothes off
Why won’t you face me?
As you burn down…

See me through the flames
I’m a picture on the wall
Wearing that smile that you tamed
See me through the flames
I’m standin’ so tall
See me through the flames
I’m not gonna fall…
I’m not gonna fall…

Yeah, I tried lighting the candles in this house
But you hate the light
You don’t wanna be found
You don’t wanna be found…

But can’t you hear the night?
They said it’s chasing you down
Tearing down the trees
Shedding this light
They’re creeping closer
I can see
They’re rippin’ your clothes off
What you gonna do, baby?
They’re rippin’ your clothes off
Why won’t you face me?
As you burn down…

'Afraid' poem

I hurt so much

But what sometimes

hurts more is not knowing if that hurt is real or a phase.

I'm scared of the passage of time. But it's not time

that passes, it's us. I'm afraid that I'll pass

doing the same motion over and over

and over again. Afraid that the people I love

will never stop killing themselves

and me in the process. I'm afraid

that the tears will never stop

like a stormy sky, paused, dripping, soaking

everything. My soul or heart, whatever they call it,

is drenched, so heavy, no movement is possible.

I'm afraid that, like so many children, I will

be a mirror of my parents and those I love,

that I'll be molded by the wavelengths of light,

shaped into something I don't want

to be and once despised, when it was in front of

my eyes. My eyes are empty, my heart is hollow,

like my words. I don't mean anything I say anymore

because I'm afraid of living in the truth, because

it hurts the people I love. It destroys facades,

which are so much easier. No one ever did say that

the truth was better than the facade. They

said that the facade was weaker than the truth,

and the fall is worse than the truth. I'm so afraid

that I'll never be able to let go, like them. That

I'll be stuck, lost in the dark wood my family

have trespassed into. But they thought that

it was theirs, and they realised it wasn't. But it

was too late. Dreams tore off the branches, flew

off like envied doves, and were gone so much

quicker than they had arrived. Mum needs to rip the bandage off.

Dad needs to rip away from her so she can stop fearing.

I need to leave, but I can't. Bound by nerves, anxiety and pressure

of the world around me. Scared that if I turn away

the nightmare will

melt away and I'll miss the best.

Scared that I'll always be the one with the bad luck,

that the good luck will be a rarity in my life

forever.

So frightened that it will

never

end.

So frightened that it

will

end. What if it does?

What will I do? I'm the mammoth

trapped in a world I've not prepared for.

I can't even travel on the road outside,

because there are aliens on the road. Violent. Aggressive. Bitter.

Sour lemons for mouths. Kind. Too kind, sometimes. Kindness

is a killer. Like with those cases of starvation. Empty stomachs

suddenly filled with food, desperation replaced with logic: death.

And I'm scared

that I'll always be this pitiful, self-pitying mess on the floor

of my bedroom.

I see myself swinging from a shower rail, that slide-to cupboard above the

phony wardrobe, floating in the bath, or red-wristed, like one

of those Western Indians who fought for their country, because

they thought it was right.

Stopping won't stop this, though. Stopping won't help them or myself.

I don't care if it's a sin, I've sinned often enough with

my mind. It's not in the book: that it's okay to sin

under certain circumstances.

Seeing is believing, they say. But I've seen,

and now I believe in nothing. No

God.

No life. No

future. No one. Not

myself, either.

I'll leave, metaphorically, with a little optimism, because

that's what you all want, isn't it?

This is a dream, a nightmare - and all nightmares end. We

are all born under certain circumstances, easy, hard, it doesn't matter,

it's no ones fault, not even your own. Sometimes you're built for

that hard life, built to be hard and unflinching; sometimes

you're not. It's no ones fault. You've just got

to live with it. Because life is unfair, and you

can't remove the irreversibly attached un from the fair.

I'm sorry. I truly am. I failed to be optimistic.

I failed, but it's not my fault. It's no ones.

Stress is a barrier...

...that will prevent you from writing with a free fluidity! That's why it is always important to claim your own personal and private part of the house. I know most of you reading this will have your very own bedroom, but I on the other hand, have to share mine with my sister. It's very inconvenient for my writing! Not to the mention the fact that my family is naturally loud and boisterous all the time.

So, if you're in the same boat as me, with a rather loud family, you'll want that private place for sure. Moreover, I am making this post because I want to tell you of the relief from stress that drawing can give you. It could be a little sketch. It doesn't even have to be that good! Just as soon as it's taking your mind off stress and the problem you're faced with at that moment. Perhaps, your writers block? 

Whenever I am very bored and I cannot entertain myself with writing because of writers block, I turn to my pencil and paper. Or paints and paper! Painting can actually be a lot more freeing than drawing, but the pictures that I've shown below are all pencil/pencil crayon drawings, as I find myself lacking paints sadly. 

Claudia, Interview with the Vampire.

Claudia, Interview with the Vampire. I have always been enchanted by her state, being a vampire before she could reach adulthood. Her story is very mysterious - as to how she feels about being trapped within a child's body - and haunting, as you glimpse the true nature of it at the end of the novel, by Anne Rice. She is, however, one my favourite characters of that book, so I like to draw her.

This is part of my final piece for my AS Level Fine Art exam, from February. As you can probably see, it isn't finished. I  wanted to show a colouring crayon picture, though. If you must know, this Canadian goose is a little fellow from Braunstone Park in Braunstone (of  course) :). 

I actually drew this pencil drawing today, of Gabrielle Aplin, the indie/folk-pop singer. It's from a snapshot of her 'Home' video. Strangely, her eyes became rather intensely angry! Oh, well, live and learn. I used more chiaroscuro, too, the difference between light and dark.

Characterisation

This is an aspect of story-making that is frequently overlooked: how you present your character to your readers. How do we learn about them? Is it from other people's mouths, perhaps the old lady by the doughnut shop? Does the narrator discover an old letter revealing their past? That's the kind of 'characterisation' I am talking about. 

If you want to make a successful novel, you must include themes in it. These themes are usually created in the way and how you present your characters or key locations e.g. the haunted house where the story is based. Take note of this: I don't recommend building your character all at once, you should slowly, almost frustratingly reveal facets of their personality and appearance. One of the major flaws in books such as Fifty Shades of Grey - and other contemporary romance novels I have read like Wait For You - is that they repeat the same phrases in their descriptions of characters. It's very boring and tedious for the reader and makes them lose interest because the book they're holding is emanating the sense that it's not going to go anywhere. Reveal your character's green eyes in chapter one, their brown hair in chapter five, then their croaky laugh in chapter nine. Draw it out so you don't end up running dry. This technique of slowly revealing aspects of a character is most useful if you're writing a mystery, thriller or horror. 

There's nothing wrong with giving a full description of the character in chapter one - it happens a lot in romance novels - but you should leave something left for the chapters to come. Or merely avoid giving descriptions of the character, as a lot of successful novels do. Yet a lot of successful novels add in descriptions all the time, to build in their themes. It all depends on what kind of story you want to write - it could even depend on you wanting to use that repetition to enforce a certain theme. For instance, repeating the fact that the person has black eyes to convey the danger and evil within that character. 

So, I'm going to list some of the characterisation techniques I know: 

• Names - what do other people call them? Perhaps one person calls Roger "Roge," which would imply that she's close to him, where as everyone else calls him "Roger."
• Imagery and symbolism. 
• Comment in narrative voice - your narrator could be narrating about a character, or about themselves.
• What other characters say about them.
• What the character says about themselves. 
• Contrasts of the character and other characters that have stark contrasts to them. 
• Their actions - remember, 'actions speak louder than words.' 
• Amount of time and focus on exploring their character - which would suggest their importance to the novel.
• Focalisation
• Selective detail - (used mostly in mystery/thrillers) where the narrator picks out certain few features of the character e.g. their smile, as it is in The Great Gatsby, or their beautiful, small voice as Louis does with Claudia in Interview with the Vampire. This way, the characters become more memorable to the readers. 

That's all I've got for today. Adios! 

Gemma out x

The Game of Thrones - is Jon Snow really a bastard?

It has been suggested that Jon Snow is not truly a bastard. But how? No, I'm not going to tell you that Ned Stark quickly married a woman before she had his child. 

What if Jon Snow was Lyanna Stark's child? But only Rhaegar Targaryen could be the father - it wouldn't be a surprise as in the novels, it says that he violated her repeatedly. Although Jon would still be a bastard because Rhaegar and Lyanna never married, he would not merely be the son of a prostitute or Ned's mistress. This is an interesting theory, which is why I've chosen to talk about it. 

It does seem credible, especially as Jon was destined to have a direwolf like the rest of the Stark children were, and his wolf is significantly different. White, with red eyes - Ghost. Perhaps it differs so much from the rest of the litter of direwolves because - as it represents Jon - it truly is different. Jon is different to the rest of the Starks - no, not because he's a bastard - but maybe because he's part Targaryen: part dragon. Perhaps this could explain TGOT's enthusiastic focus on Jon - making the Red Woman bring him back to life for instance. Perhaps he was never meant to live at The Watch; perhaps he was meant to live among those he envies so much, those who scorn him for being a bastard. 

As the sixth book of TGOTs has not been written yet, it will be interesting to see how Season 6 on TV pans out. 

Last thing: in book 1, A Game of Thrones, when Jon sees Tyrion Lannister's shadow, it says it stood "as tall as a king." Seeing as this is a work of literature...could this be foreshadowing something? Or is Martin just pulling our leg? Comment your own thoughts if you want. 

Inspirational Songs 10/06/16

Sound The Bugle Bell - Bryan Adams (from the film, Spirit). A mournful, wistful reflection on the way war (mental and physical) can stain our lives and take the meaning out of your existence. Nevertheless, it takes us onto a different concept: the suffering we experience should reform us, making us into something stronger than we were before. Very inspiring!

Lumina - BrunuhVille music composer, fantasy genre, haunting, beautiful. You can find Brunuh's channel on YouTube, he has plenty of amazing, tear-evoking tracks that he's made. 

Relaxing Music Epic Fantasy - contains a lot of tracks from fantasy films and games, such as Skyrim and Lord of the Rings. It's one of the best ones I've come across; I recommend listening to it if you're trying to become inspired in the writing of your very on fantasy novel/story! :)

Just a Game - Birdy. A beautiful, honest original by Birdy, composed for the film, Hunger Games. Just her voice is inspiring, I'm not sure if the meaning will inspire you. It's about wondering if life is all pretend, whether everyone you know really loves you or are pretending to. 

Pompeii - Bastille. Come on, you must've heard of this track! An insightful, unique song written by Dan Smith (the lead singer of the band), that reflects on whether humans ever change their nature and tendency to do sin. Also watch the video: it offers clarity and compliments the meaning of the song.

Bad News - Bastille. Dan Smith sings of bad news and how much it can hurt, how out-of-the-blue it can be. Overall, he concludes with the idea that despite the cruel nature of 'bad news' (which could be a symbol for suffering), we should not let it tip us off our feet. We should get back up and not bury our heads in the sand.

Heaven - Bryan Adams. A sweet, romantic, rock song, that reflects on the power and perfection of love. Hey, maybe you're writing a romance novel. Should be inspiring :)

About 2:30 minutes into this track, there's a beautiful part, I'm not sure what instrument it is. The whole track is magnificent, anyway. 

Well, that's all I've got for today :) I hope these tracks have been very inspirational to you. Remember, don't stop writing! Carry on and you'll find your 'tune.' Please continue to visit my blog, as I'm always posting new inspirational tracks I've found, interesting texts I've found, and tips on novel-writing/story-building. 

Thanks and good luck to all you writers *thumbs up*

'Memnoch The Devil' - huh, that ending?

I've only just finished reading Anne Rice's novel (1995, I believe) for the second time. The last time I read it, I was around 13 years of age (I'm 17 now) so I didn't exactly understand it, not with it's sophisticated register and complexity in terms of outlooks and views on religion. Reading it again, it made a lot more sense to me; however, the ending still puzzled me!

Beware that there will be spoilers in this post...and if you haven't already read any of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles, I suggest you do. 

At the end, in the last chapter, I think it is, Maharet - the second oldest vampire in the whole population of vampires - gives Lestat a package containing a message from Memnoch (the devil) along with his missing eye. Why did Maharet have the package? Why would Memnoch give it to her - is she in on this whole bringing-Christianity-back-into-prominence mission? The book is very vague, frustratingly. 

What is even more angering, though, is Memnoch's message to Lestat, in blood/soot writing, "To My Prince, my thanks to you for a job perfectly done. My love, Memnoch the Devil." Throughout the novel, Memnoch had been trying to persuade Lestat to side with him - to help him purge the souls of Sheol (Hell) so they could go into Heaven. It's Memnoch's job to do this because in the past he complained too much about God being impassive to the suffering of the souls of Sheol. Some simply passed straight into Heaven, others became trapped in Sheol - and this could depend on the spontaneity of chance, or the amount of suffering the souls have felt. Memnoch thought it was unfair that those who suffer should stay in Sheol because the suffering brought them into sin, where as those who barely suffered anything went straight into Heaven. It's just not fair, as Lestat and Memnoch agreed on. Hence, Memnoch wanted to help all of those trapped souls in Sheol to ascend to Heaven - to be "worthy" of God and his Paradise - as he felt a compassion for mankind that God simply did not have. He referred to those souls in Sheol to stones on a shore. So, God left Memnoch in charge of Sheol. 

Meanwhile, during Memnoch's entrapment in Sheol, with no choice but to help purge the souls in there - for who else will do it? - Memnoch is also having another argument with God. He believes that suffering is pointless, that without it, the stages of the human mind that reveal the will to do sin and to inflict suffering on others, would never be. That stage in the human mind is what's keeping the souls in Sheol and not going to Heaven - so why have it? This is what Memnoch cannot understand and constantly, he is mocked and laughed at by the Lord, because of his "simple angelic mind." In God's eyes, suffering is part of the cycle of Nature and without it, there would not be glory in human life - there is magnificence in the grotesque murders during wars, in the "speared" infants along the roads... Here is where I started to understand Lestat when he said that God was "mad." I believe that without suffering - and freewill is what allows it to happen, and without freewill, there would be no point in living - the quality of life would fade into nothingness. How can you be grateful for true love when it comes around if you've had 50 odd lovers before, who you were each madly in love with? The clarity of what is, shall we say, good, is seen when in contrast with what is "evil," such as suffering. 

But anyway, so Memnoch wanted to prove God wrong, that suffering is not what humans need to be purged - they need love and the intimacies they feel when with each other - so he tells Lestat that he wants to change mankind's minds about God. He wants to put a stop to Christianity, because it is the root of the idea that suffering is purgatory - is pure and good, the way to reach the Lord in Heaven. He frequently boasts to Lestat, "I'm winning," because mankind have grown to "hate" God for his allowance of suffering to innocents and his passivity towards humans. At least in the 21st Century. 

This is what really puzzled me - that message at the end from Memnoch. It implies that Memnoch is pleased that Lestat escaped Sheol with Veronica's Veil, then revealed it to the world, solidifying human faith in God and Christianity once again. After all, he tries to stop Lestat from leaving Sheol and even cries at Lestat's deserting him - he pulls Lestat's eye out (accidentally apparently) in his efforts to stop him from leaving, then looks horrified at his doing. But then it is implied that Memnoch planned to take Lestat's eye all along, because of his mention of 'Uncle Mickey's eye' - Dora's uncle - and as this is a novel, we can't dismiss anything as a coincidence, can we? Anyhow, what I wanted to know was: why did Memnoch thank Lestat for doing the exact opposite of what he said he wanted? 

I've been reading online all sorts of theories, which vary from: the Devil is a liar and this was Anne's way of reminding us of that, Anne wanted to reveal to us how lies are sometimes easier to accept, the truth less so, or even that Memnoch was working alongside God. Perhaps he wanted to return to Heaven, so he gave in to God, and decided that suffering could be used to purge the souls of mankind, so they could go into Heaven. Or perhaps he wasn't the devil at all? Apparently Rice suggested this very notion at a book signing, which would suggest that God used another of his servants to pretend to be Memnoch, because he knew that he was losing. After all, Memnoch showed little resistance when God told Lestat to take the veil - perhaps that whole "He's got the veil! Don't let him take the veil," was an act. This is further supported by the fact that each time Lestat has fought Memnoch, he's been able to knock him backwards. Really? A vampire is as strong as the devil? Perhaps, seeing as Lestat has drunk blood from the First Brood vampires plenty of times, but it doesn't make sense if an "earthbound" creature is as strong as or stronger than a Heavenly species. Therefore, I'm settling for Memnoch's weakness as either the shock of betrayal (becasue Lestat's leaving him to win the game with God on his own), or an act. 

Another puzzling thing for me is: why on earth (excuse the pun) did Memnoch lie and pretend to be against God and Christianity's rebirth in human society, if he actually wasn't? Was it because he knew that Lestat "hated" God, so he pretended to as well, then Lestat would trust him more? I know that the inclusion of the Veil during Lestat's tour of Hell, Heaven and Earth is not a fluke. Just as I know that Memnoch choosing Lestat to be his "lieutenant" is not just chance either, as Lestat was involved with Dora and Roger, her father, who were both suspiciously obsessed with religion and focused their whole lives on it. Obviously, Memnoch and God needed Dora to find the Veil because they knew that she would convert utterly to a new religion and would be determined to show the world and as she is an evangelist, strive to convert everyone else to this new religion (which I believe is Christianity, in its rawest form, what God wanted it to be in the first place). I have a feeling that Memnoch put on this whole act for Lestat and tricked him into believing certain things so that Lestat would almost lose his mind. With the knowledge that he was actually going mad, he wanted to prove that he wasn't and he needed for this chaos in his mind to be not "for nothing", to mean something, so he needed Dora to believe him. What better way to make her believe him, than to show her the Veil? So he did, and God won. 

That is my theory. 

Why Lestat lost his mind in the end, I think it may be because he felt utterly betrayed, that Memnoch would trick him, that this angel who is loving, caring for mankind and fighting for their place in Heaven, would lie to him and use him as a way of reforging the idea that suffering is good and magnificent. Lestat cannot accept that someone who he grew to love, as he admits in the book he loves Memnoch, would lie to him. And last of all, the idea that Memnoch lied about believing in Lestat's Savage Garden - something he'd believed in so adamantly all his life - was devastating to him. 

Moreover, Armand's decision to burn in the sun and sacrifice himself to symbolize the rebirth of Christianity, was a little confusing. Armand seemed content in his life on Earth - he didn't seem unhappy. So why throw away his life? All his life he had submitted to the notion that there is no God or Devil, after letting go of his belief that by serving Satan, we are serving God. Now Lestat has returned from Hell and Heaven, saying things that suggest that yes, we can serve God through the Devil and yes, God and the Devil do exist! It probably drove him out of his mind and made him believe that all his life, he'd wasted himself, taken thousands of lives for four hundred years, for little reason at all, because he had gained nothing during his life on Earth, not even the realisation of the truth. I didn't like Armand's decision, though, despite the fact that he doesn't actually die - he lands in a building, after rising into the sun, near-death and found by two mortals who change his outlook on life. He's always been one of my favourite vampires, despite his tendency to be vain and arrogant, he's interesting and almost lovable. Another website I found suggested that Lestat's revealing of the Veil to the world, causing the vampires to stand before the church and let the sun destroy them, was Memnoch's way of getting rid of many of the vampire population. This way, less vampires would kill to feed, less souls would go into Sheol having suffered a spontaneous, quick death, having died young - having not felt gratitude for life and God's creation because they didn't have enough time - and then Memnoch would win, at the same time that God won. 

I don't think that Memnoch expected anything less from Lestat - he knew he would be a coward and would flee from Hell and his own purgatory, taking the Veil to Earth and ensuring the rebirth of Christianity and Love in God. This is conveyed by his words, "a job perfectly done." Lestat had fulfilled his role unknowingly, "perfectly." 

Anyway, I hope my theories have helped anyone else, who has become very vacillated with the ending of Rice's book, Memnoch The Devil. Please share your own opinions of the ending in the comments section. I'd be very interested to see what other people make of the ending :) Thanks. 

Some More...

...Inspirational Songs!

Lately, I have been listening to YouTube videos from a channel I have subscribed to. It contains a few unreleased songs from the wonderful artist, Gabrielle Aplin. I have included her songs in some of my posts before, I believe, but for those of you who haven't seen those posts, here's a brief introduction to this young singer/songwriter. 

From age thirteen, she has been writing her own songs, which are usually influenced by the indie-folk genre and artists such as Joni Mitchell, whom she has been listening to all her life having been brought up in a gypsy family. She has made at least three albums now and is becoming more and more popular. Somewhere along the road, her mind darkened and she experienced pain for reasons unknown, which inspired her to express loneliness, insanity and despair in her lyrics. Hopefully, this context will allow you to understand the lyrics in these songs a little more. 

Listen to them and hopefully they might inspire you!

A Little Odd Post!

Okay, so I was doing my English Literature homework and I came upon this as I was searching for images that related to creationism. 

I am an atheist as you may have guessed by now and I have to admit, all human beliefs including atheism are ridiculous! Why? Well, let's look at the following...choices that we have:

1. A random, gigantic man made all of these balls of rock out of the blue and made miniature, tiny, tiny, tiny creatures on it. But, wait, although humans are his most prominent species, the one he made in his image, he let dinosaurs roam it first, marking their territory. What a traitor! And here we were thinking we were his favorite :(
2. There are hundreds of men up there called gods and, oh, this is interesting, also lady gods called goddesses. Even though the earth was pure invention, they seem to possess the same features as animals that dwell on the earth, such as elephant eyes and snakes. 
3. Or, we have the final belief...there really is no reason. Simple really, a few atoms reacted, exploding and expanding, expanding, and streeeetch, there you have it: the universe. There's not a reason why. It's really, just that. We are completely alone, save for the possible aliens out there. 

So you see, I didn't really have much choice when I was faced with the decision of following a belief. Many times I have rethought my choice, thinking, but surely if we're all here and all of this meaning is here, there must be a reason. Sure, there could be a strange, unimaginable entity out there, seeing as the universe is so perfectly built and designed, as though it was constructed by hands or forces. Look at ants. We have gotten many of our architectural ideas from the things that they build. Could this suggest that the universe and all of these atoms and atmospheres work with amazing compatibility? Or, could it tell us there is something out there, making these miracles possible? The raw, fundamental basis of religion such as Christianity is actually quite believable. I just think the author was on cocaine or maybe weed whilst he was writing it. "He made the Universe in Six days and took a nap on the Seventh." No that's not the original passage from Genesis. But that's basically what they are saying to us. Couldn't they have at least made it all believable, let alone readable? Yet, I suppose almost none of the people in England read anything, so the Bible would have been like water to their arid minds. The stories in the Bible are rarely agreeable, rarely cohesive and rarely sensible. Do people really believe that snakes can talk? Do you really believe that we all came from two people - where are the deformed, mutated humans? I'm dismissing cancers and diseases that humans all over the world get because these are the least humans would be experiencing if we all came from one couple. 

Another thing that tells me that the Bible is very unreliable is how sexist it is! God is a man. Why? Because that's how it must be; no, it's how humans have it - alarm bells ringing yet? Humans made up all of the Bible. Women have been condemned, resented and discriminated against up until perhaps the previous century - even now, mind you - all because Eve, damn you, Eve!, ate the apple of knowledge. Now it's all her fault, wait, it's all women's fault that the plague of sin roams the earth. That, everyone, is not fair. What about Adam's submission to eat the apple? Isn't it his fault, too? 

Really, it is just the teachings, thoughts and stories in the Bible that I disagree with. It makes me deeply demoralized when I hear someone saying that they believe all that. 

Now, about that picture above. Atheism makes a lot more sense than Christianity or the other religions spread across the world. The definition that person wrote isn't half true. It's not so black and white, just like religion isn't. Everyone believes different aspects of atheism. Someone might believe in the Big Bang Theory, not that 'nothing happened,' but they don't believe in God creating the universe. 

Christianity wouldn't be so bad if the Bible didn't exist. If Christians followed the simple, understandable belief: God made the universe, it make a lot more sense. We don't need to make assumptions of how he made the universe or - now, now, no need to be so cocky - of how we are the prime, chief species on earth. 

Oh, and if you're still here, read The Handmaid's Tale. Margaret Atwood. That might sum up everything I've said. 

Praise be.