Stories That Aren't Even True

What is the purpose of stories that aren't even true? The lesson. The stories of Abu Kasim or Sindbad are far from true, but the lessons to be learned are what pass them along from generation to generation. The Native American culture rests on stories. Their stories, as rediculous as most of them seem, are the warning signs that their ancestors provided for them. Stories that aren't true are the best stories, anyways; they are stories plump-full of artificial adventures and juicy lessons.

Today I took a walk

Today I took a walk. The sunshine gently kissed my cheeks, and the warm breeze was just right. I strolled by the campus duck sanctuary and marveled as the feathered creatures nestled sweetly in the lush, recently trimmed grass. I love the smell of April: the air, so dewy and fresh; the smell of new beginnings. The way the 4 o'clock afternoon enveloped me was the way I had been urning to feel for a long while. I was happy; I clenched on tight to this feeling, savoring every last sensation...if only it would last past sunset.
I arrived at my car, shutting the door mechanically, startling me out of thought. Why does romance have to be limited to the love between a man and a woman (man/man, woman/woman)? The feelings I had experienced during my walk made me wonder if romance is indeed exclusive, or if it can be stretched beyond that.

Wikipedia defines romance (love) as the pleasurable feeling of excitment and mystery associated with love. Can one not be in love with, and endulge in the pleasurable feelings and mysteries of the world around? I wish I could end this blog with a deep, renoun answer, but the truth is, I have a feeling this answer won't come to me until I sit still in a rocking chair, rumpled and grey. Then, will I bask in the zen that has so long been awaited.

Ass

The Ass... What a lowly, humble creature. I find it so facinating that such a vast majority of stories have used the ass as their go-to creature. So, what is it, then? What is the magical, hidden parallel between donkey and moral? So many stories to have used this animal, and I am truely perplexed as to why. I mean come on... Why is Eor a donkey? Coinsidence? Nahh.
Why not a dog, or a monkey or a llama?? I can't convince myself that the ancient story writers/tellers so happend to borrow the ass from other stories because they couldn't conjure up an animal themselves. What am I missing?
Someone please get Eor some Zoloft.

Daphinis and Chloe

This is a painting by François Gérard.
I like this one the best because it really depicts the intimate bond between the two lovers. Daphinis is tenderly about to adorn the head of his love with a halo of flowers, while she rests so trustingly on his knee. Their intertwined closeness is the perfect portrayel of their indefinate bond.
I also really like the colors in this picture. The blue ocean and the yellow sky contrast so nicely with Daphinis' red cloak.

A Real Life Fairytale

I'm not sure when or if we are supposed to post our stories, but here is mine.

I knew this girl whose best friend goes to college somewhere in southern California. She has a roommate who happened to be the daughter of some wealthy, big shot, Hollywood manager guy. Consequentially, she got invites to all of these big time parties and the two of them would go on occasion. One night, they were having a grand 'ole time partying among the celebraties when they came accross a famous muscian (I forgot who it was exactly, let's call her Helga). Unaware that the two girls were mere college kids, the three of them quickly became good friends. After that night, they exchanged phone numbers, and the following weekend were invited by their muscian friend to countless other "A" list parties. A month or so went by and the ladies had partied with pretty much all of Hollywood. One night, after far too many margaritas, the girls spilled the truth about their identies. To their superise, their famous friend was almost relieved. In fact, she opted that one of them  switch places with her for a day. The girl whose dad was wealthy happened to look strikingly similar to Helga, so they decided to switch the following weekend. The weekend came, and the girls went on their ways being eachother. At first, the girls had a blast meddling in the life of the other, but when the day came to an end, they both discovered how lucky they really were to have the lives that they both had. Being in the shoes of the other opened both of their eyes into seeing that they need not take advantage of what they have. After that, the girls kept in touch and hung out every once in a while. But after the switcharoo, my friend's best friend said that she noticed a change in both the girls: they were more grateful, gracious and kind.
What story is this??

A classmate (whose epithet will remain unknown) and I got into a discussion today. This discussion has stuck with me throughout the day; it has carried on through the duration of work, and now, to my bedroom where I write this. We talked about what romance is. My concept of romance was far different from his (possibly the difference between boy and girl?). His thoughts are that romance is something that men perform on women to get to the ultimate goal... "why else would we do it"? I found this to be quite sad. Romance, in my opinion, is not "performed", but what is, rather, emulated from a common feeling between two lovers. Does romance always have to end up with a sexual outcome? Don't get me wrong, that is always a plus, but what about the romance where there is nothing connecting you more than the gurgling feeling deep inside -  the feeling where you tell yourself that there is no where in the world you would rather be than right there? I don't really think of romance as opening the door for a lady (that is just common curtesy) and I don't think of it as a man walking on the street while she is on the sidewalk as romance, either. However, I do believe that romance is anything that makes your lady feel special, needed and important. (Does this mean that watching the Justin Beiber movie with me, saying that it has "potential" with a false smile means romance? Yes, because even though you say that you would never watch it, you insist to watch it with me because you know it would make me happy.) But who am I to declare the opioion of another is wrong, esp on such a vague topic of romance. This is just something that has been on my mind. I can't wait to see how the perfect romances end up at the end of the semester.

What is the Point of Stories That ARE True!?

Haroun and the Sea of Stories was an epic way to start off a semester. I am a slow reader, so when I had finished it, it had taken me but the whole day. However, I did not mind. After some time reading, I discovered a rumbly in the tumbly, as Whinny-the-Pooh would boldly declare, and was quickly back to the book, snuggled in my bed, unaware that the whole day had passed. And then it dawned on me: if there were no other reasons for stories that aren't true, wouldn't it be so that a story is good for revitalizing the soul and rejuvinating the everyday hardworker before he jumps back into the stress of the real world?? Of course, I believe that stories that aren't true have morals that we are supposed to learn from, yada, yada... but what about the virtue of a good relaxing story, that escape that we all so desperately need every now and again? As I write this, I cannot help but think of Wallace Stevens' poem, The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm. This happens to be one of my favorite poems of all time because of how Stevens elaborately depicts the magic that occurs when a reader opens a book and becomes enveloped with it. Ah, the beautiful bewitchment of a story's pages. And with that I say BAM! to all you neigh-sayers out there... I profess: what is the point of stories that ARE true!?

And for those of you who are curious:

The house was quiet and the world was calm.
The reader became the book; and summer night

Was like the conscious being of the book.
The house was quiet and the world was calm.

The words were spoken as if there was no book,
Except that the reader leaned above the page,

Wanted to lean, wanted much to be
The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
The house was quiet because it had to be.

The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind:
The access of perfection to the page.

And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world,
In which there is no other meaning, itself

Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself
Is the reader leaning late and reading there.