One might think that having oodles of extra time would be conducive to increased blog traffic. One would be quite mistaken. During school my blog is more valuable as a repository for any thoughts which won't stop flitting around my brain. When I am home and totally relaxed I do not need such a device quite so much.
I think today I found the greatest factor. These last few days have been tremendously lazy; consumed by books, movies, and shopping. Today, however, I stayed home and cleaned like a little maniac. Suddenly, after the last sweet phrase of my third album, I felt the burning need to write something. It can then be assumed that I write more when I am busy. Activity provides food for my brain, which makes sense because I think better when moving.
You are free to assume that, if I have not blogged for a few days, I am acting the part of the lazy little layabout.
Moving on...
I went back and read Oliver Twist. Horridly depressing, as I expected. The facetious irony was good for the first 50 pages, after that it lost any of the cleverness which it thereto possessed. Dickens persistent insincerity and and constant sarcasm lose their novelty and become annoying quickly. This phenomenon is worse in Twist than in the others I have read.
I was disappointed that Fagin was hanged. Evil though he may have been, he at least possessed something of a human side. His was not the wanton brutality of Bill Sykes. Fagin was a schemer, not a brute or an assassin and the deadliest weapon he wielded was the police and his knowledge of the guilt of others. Should Fagin have spent the rest of his life in prison? Certainly. In the end he was an old man, a fence, a thief, and general fiend, none of which is generally punishable by death. Oh well.
Sykes had it coming.
Now I'm reading The Hunger Games. We'll see how that goes.
I think today I found the greatest factor. These last few days have been tremendously lazy; consumed by books, movies, and shopping. Today, however, I stayed home and cleaned like a little maniac. Suddenly, after the last sweet phrase of my third album, I felt the burning need to write something. It can then be assumed that I write more when I am busy. Activity provides food for my brain, which makes sense because I think better when moving.
You are free to assume that, if I have not blogged for a few days, I am acting the part of the lazy little layabout.
Moving on...
I went back and read Oliver Twist. Horridly depressing, as I expected. The facetious irony was good for the first 50 pages, after that it lost any of the cleverness which it thereto possessed. Dickens persistent insincerity and and constant sarcasm lose their novelty and become annoying quickly. This phenomenon is worse in Twist than in the others I have read.
I was disappointed that Fagin was hanged. Evil though he may have been, he at least possessed something of a human side. His was not the wanton brutality of Bill Sykes. Fagin was a schemer, not a brute or an assassin and the deadliest weapon he wielded was the police and his knowledge of the guilt of others. Should Fagin have spent the rest of his life in prison? Certainly. In the end he was an old man, a fence, a thief, and general fiend, none of which is generally punishable by death. Oh well.
Sykes had it coming.
Now I'm reading The Hunger Games. We'll see how that goes.
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