Satan
01-21-2010, 05:31 PM
I have been a silent lurker for quite some time now, and I took my time for even an introductory post such as this. Far too many electronic and dead-tree distractions, you see. Aye, all the excuses for my laziness.
We are quite an odd couple - literature and I, if a couple at all. She has had lovers aplenty and I never was faithful either. Like a snob she sneered when technology wrung her tactful arms around me--confident that I would come back someday. I did, and now she looks at me with a blank stare that drives even Byronic heroes to madness.
Ah, enough! Why am I even trying in a forum where bookworms are abundant and would gnaw at me with their sharp wit and wisdom? Vanity, vanity! Professionally I am a software developer with a degree in computer science and masters in business management. English is not my mother-tongue, but I do speak and understand what far transgresses written words--the sound and music of life and thoughts. What I do find interesting is how closely knit languages and thoughts are. How often is it that you cogitate not using natural languages but only primitive processes of thought that predate it? I digress!
As absurd as it may sound, Lolita takes the credit of introducing me to the world of literature. I was no more than a nine year old naive school boy who discovered this treasure in a bookshelf--covered with dust and neglected for years. I wondered if the story was true and then I wanted to be a part of it. To me it was an ordinary love story, albeit with a lyrical prose that was to stay with me. Then I grew out of it to become a world-weary "What am I doing here?" teen that found immediate solace in the world of Nietzsche. I cheered for Milton's Lucifer and bowed before the genius of Dostoevsky. I saw myself in Harry Haller and Meursault, then took to Baudelaire to escape the absurd. Rimbaud intrigued me and Sartre made me numb; Celine made me a pessimist and Joyce had me dumb. Ugh! Bad poetry.
Welcome me with thy open arms, comrades. Don't mind my evil presence if you notice me lurking and reading silently again. :lol:
We are quite an odd couple - literature and I, if a couple at all. She has had lovers aplenty and I never was faithful either. Like a snob she sneered when technology wrung her tactful arms around me--confident that I would come back someday. I did, and now she looks at me with a blank stare that drives even Byronic heroes to madness.
Ah, enough! Why am I even trying in a forum where bookworms are abundant and would gnaw at me with their sharp wit and wisdom? Vanity, vanity! Professionally I am a software developer with a degree in computer science and masters in business management. English is not my mother-tongue, but I do speak and understand what far transgresses written words--the sound and music of life and thoughts. What I do find interesting is how closely knit languages and thoughts are. How often is it that you cogitate not using natural languages but only primitive processes of thought that predate it? I digress!
As absurd as it may sound, Lolita takes the credit of introducing me to the world of literature. I was no more than a nine year old naive school boy who discovered this treasure in a bookshelf--covered with dust and neglected for years. I wondered if the story was true and then I wanted to be a part of it. To me it was an ordinary love story, albeit with a lyrical prose that was to stay with me. Then I grew out of it to become a world-weary "What am I doing here?" teen that found immediate solace in the world of Nietzsche. I cheered for Milton's Lucifer and bowed before the genius of Dostoevsky. I saw myself in Harry Haller and Meursault, then took to Baudelaire to escape the absurd. Rimbaud intrigued me and Sartre made me numb; Celine made me a pessimist and Joyce had me dumb. Ugh! Bad poetry.
Welcome me with thy open arms, comrades. Don't mind my evil presence if you notice me lurking and reading silently again. :lol: