Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Subj:I’m singing in the drizzle!
Date: Wednesday, June 29, 2011 11:38:04 AM
Pacific Daylight Saving Time
How’s it going?
It drizzles—one of those days, eh?
…seems like going back to cool and wet days.
Yet I feel great—singing in the drizzle.
‘Cause I enjoy the sunshine on the English Bay in the net world with a Marilyn-Monroe look-alike. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha …
As usual, I’ve written an article about your note, which gave me a lot of inspiration.
Please click at the following link:
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
We don’t have a lot of sunshine today.
But I know, a great deal of sunshine sparkles out of your heart.
Anyway, it’s a good idea for you to stay in the library and to read my blog.
Get a heart-felt laugh!
Have a nice day!
Ciao with a lot of love.
just around the corner!
Date: Thu, Jun 30, 2011 4:37 pm.
Pacific Daylight Saving Time
Well, well, well … my skinny Socrates!
You ARE a deep thinker, aren’t you?
I quite agree that we often waste our time in idle chatter, and I’ll be the first to admit I’m guilty on that account myself.
Often, I will ask myself what the best use of my day will be and, for a great part of it, I do manage to accomplish worthwhile activies … like exercising, time in nature, contact with friends, rest, reading and contemplating …
BUT there is still wasted slack time that’s for sure.
…guess it’s a dance we all have to learn—the dance of living a worthwhile life, don’t you think?
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
I loved the above article … very thoughtful.
I’m sure that chatroom lovers can eventually learn to love each other, while face-to-face might produce the opposite affect.
But when you think about it, a chatroom lover can’t hold your hand, or kiss you or hold you or go with you to a movie very well now, can they?!
Nothing beats a face-to-face even thought there are no guarantees it will work out … no guarantees either way, so might as well go for the real McCoy, I’d say.
Most chatroom love would be pseudo-love, I’m guessing.
Ah, it’s all so very interesting, anyway.
Thanks so much for the above article, kiddo,
Love, Diane ~
Diane, I absolutely agree with you. Even white bears hold each other with a heart-felt love as the following photo shows:
So, why don’t we go for the real McCoy? He, he, he, he, he,…
I’m glad to hear that, Kato. As you mentioned in the above article, chatroom lovers might be able to find an ideal partner. But most chatroom love would be pseudo-love. Don’t you think so, Kato?
Yes, in most cases, chatroom love is pseudo-love. I agree with you, Diane. However, even in the real face-to-face world, love could be pseudo-love.
I don’t understand what you’re talking about, Kato.
Well…, to me, the love between Mr. Rochester and Jane seems like a pseudo-love. Read the following passage:
Half dream, half reality
“And these dreams weigh on your spirits now, Jane, when I am close to you? Little nervous subject! Forget visionary woe, and think only of real happiness! You say you love me, Janet: yes—I will not forget that; and you cannot deny it. Those words did not die inarticulate on your lips. I heard them clear and soft: a thought too solemn perhaps, but sweet as music—‘I think it is a glorious thing to have the hope of living with you, Edward, because I love you.’ Do you love me, Jane? repeat it.”
“I do sir,—I do, with my whole heart.”
“Well,” he said, after some minutes’ silence, “it is strange; but that sentence has penetrated my breast painfully. Why? I think because you said it with such an earnest, religious energy; and because your upward gaze at me now is the very sublime of faith, truth, and devotion: it is too much as if some spirit were near me. Look wicked, Jane; as you know well how to look: coin one of your wild, shy, provoking smiles; tell me you hate me—tease me, vex me: do anything but move me: I would rather be incensed than saddened.”
“I will tease you and vex you to your heart’s content, when I have finished my tale: but hear me to the end.”
“I thought, Jane, you had told me all. I thought I had found the source of your melancholy in a dream!”
“I dreamt another dream, sir: that Thornfield Hall was a dreary ruin, the retreat of bats and owls. … The shape standing before me had never crossed my eyes within the precincts of Thornfield Hall before; the height, the contour were new to me. … It seemed, sir, a woman, tall and large, with thick and dark hair hanging long down her back. … Oh, sir, I never saw a face like it! It was a discoloured face—it was a savage face. I wish I could forget the roll of the red eyes and the fearful blackened inflation of the lineaments!”
“Ah!—what did it do?”
“Sir, it removed my veil from its gaunt head, rent it in two parts, and flinging both on the floor, trampled on them.”
“And since I cannot do it, Jane, it must have been unreal.”
“But, sir, when I said so to myself on rising this morning, and when I looked round the room to gather courage and comfort from the cheerful aspect of each familiar object in full daylight, there—on the carpet—I saw what gave the distinct lie to my hypothesis,—the veil, torn from top to bottom in two halves!”
I felt Mr. Rochester start and shudder; …
“Now, Janet, I’ll explain to you all about it. It was half dream, half reality: a woman did, I doubt not, enter your room: and that woman was—must have been—Grace Poole.”
SOURCE: Chapter 25 “Jane Eyre”
PICTURES: from the Denman Library
You see, Diane, Mr. Rochester and Jane had face-to-face interactions in half dream and half reality, without knowing it.
half dream and half reality?
Yes, that’s it. For Jane Eyre, Mr. Rochester created a virtual world where the reality was hidden on purpose. So, in the virtual world, Mr. Rochester and Jane fell in love and seemed to be such an ideal couple as Sana and Adnan were on the net.
What is the reality?
That ghost-like woman in the above episode was not Grace Poole, but Mr. Rochester’s mad wife, whom he hid intentionally. And as soon as Jane Eyre came to know the mad wife, Jane broke up with Mr. Rochester and escaped from Thornfield Hall.
You see, Diane, that Mr. Rochester is so manipulative and insincere because he didn’t tell Jane about his mad wife in the first place. Yet, he was coming on to Jane. If I were Jane, I would kick him out of this world. On the contrary, her cousin, St. John, is a sincere, honest, and hard-working man. To me, St. John loved Jane more than Mr. Rochester from the bottom of his heart.
Do you really think so, Kato?
Yes, most definitely I do.
But what makes you think so?
Well, read the following passage. Even Diana, St. John’s sister, thought so.
On re-entering the parlour, I found Diana standing at the window, looking very thoughtful. Diana was a great deal taller than I: she put her hand on my shoulder, and, stooping, examined my face.
“Jane,” she said, “you are always agitated and pale now. I am sure there is something the matter. Tell me what business St. John and you have on hand. I have watched you this half hour from the window: you must forgive my being such a spy, but for a long time I have fancied I hardly know what St. John is a strange being—”
She paused—I did not speak: soon she resumed:—
“That brother of mine cherishes peculiar views of some sort and interest he never showed to any one else—to what end? I wish he loved you—does he, Jane?”
I put her cool hand to my hot forehead: “No, Die, not one whit.”
“Then why does he follow you so with his eyes—and get you so frequently alone with him, and keep you so continually at his side? Mary and I had both concluded he wished you to marry him.”
“He does—he has asked me to be his wife.”
Diana clapped her hands. “That is just what we hoped and thought! And you will marry him, Jane, won’t you? And then he will stay in England.”
“Far from that, Diana; his sole idea in proposing to me is to procure a fitting fellow-labourer in his Indian toils.”
“What! He wishes you to go to India?”
“Madness!” she exclaimed. “You would not live three months there, I am certrain. You never shall go: you have not consented—have you, Jane?”
“I have refused to marry him”
“And have consequently displeased him?” she suggested.
“Deeply: he will never forgive me, I fear: yet I offered to accompany him as his sister.”
“It was frantic folly to do so, Jane. Think of the task you undertook—one of incessant fatigue: where fatigue kills even the strong; and you are weak. St. John—you know him—would urge you to impossibilities—with him there would be no permission to rest during the hot hours; and fortunately, I have noticed, whatever he exacts, you force yourself to perform. I am astonished you found courage to refuse his hand. You do not love him then, Jane?”
“Not as a husband.”
“Yet he is a handsome fellow.”
“And I am so plain, you see, Die. We should never suit.”
“Plain! You? Not at all. You are much too pretty, as well as too good, to be grilled alive in Carcutta.” And again she earnestly conjured me to give up all thoughts of going out with her brother.
“I must, indeed,” I said: “for when just now I repeated the offer of serving him foe a deacon, he expressed himself shocked at my want of decency. He seemed to think I had committed an impropriety in proposing to accompany him unmarried: as if I had not from the first hoped to find in him a brother; and habitually regarded him as such.”
“What makes you say he does not love you, Jane?”
“You should hear himself on the subject. He has again and again explained that it is not himself, but his office he wishes to mate. He has told me I am formed for labour—not for love: which is true, no doubt. But, in my opinion, if I am not formed for love, it follows that I am not formed for marriage. Would it not be strage, Die, to be chained for life to a man who regarded one but as a useful tool?”
“Insupportable—unnatural—out of the question!”
“And then,” I continued, “though I have only sisterly affection for him now, yet, if forced to be his wife, I can imagine the possibility of conceiving an inevitable, strange, torturing kind of love for him: because he is so talented; and there is often a certain heroic grandeur in his look, manner, and conversation. In that case, my lot would become unspeakably wretched. He would not want me to love him; and if I showed the feeling, he would make me sensible that it was a superfluity unrequired by him, unbecoming in me. I know he would.”
“And yet, St. John is a good man,” said Diana.
“He is a good and a great man: but he forgets, pitilessly, the feelings and claims of little people, in pursuing his own large views. It is better, therefore, for the insignificant to keep out of his way; lest, in his progress, he should trample them down. Here he comes! I will leave you, Diana.” And I hastened upstairs, as I saw him entering the garden.
SOURCE: Chapter 35, “Jane Eyre”
PICTURES: from the Denman Library
Yes, his sister tought St. John loved Jane so much, but to Jane, he seemed to love her to procure a fitting fellow-labourer in his Indian toils.
I know…I know…but Diana thought his brother loved Jane sincerely from the bottom of his heart. That’s why she said “That is just what we hoped and thought! And you will marry him, Jane, won’t you?”
So, Kato, are you telling me that Jane misunderstood his love?
Yes, I am. Watch the DVD, Diane. If I were a woman, I would go for St. John. Obviously, Mr. Rochester is quite manipulative and insincere, if not a womanizer. I would kick his ass and never see him again.
Kato, you’re becoming quite emotional about this.
Oh, no…I’m actually quite cool-headed. I can see things unemotionally. He, he, he, he, he…
In any case, Jane didn’t love St. John.
No, she didn’t. I know that…because “Jane Eyre” is a fiction, after all.
So, Kato, you’re saying, if it weren’t a fiction, Jane would have loved St. John, instead of Mr. Rochester, aren’t you?
Yes, most definitly, I am.
What makes you think so?
Well, in the real world, Charlotte Brontë got married to Arthur Bell Nicholls, her father’s curate.
Charlotte’s brother, Branwell, the only son of the family, died of chronic bronchitis and marasmus exacerbated by heavy drinking in September 1848, although Charlotte believed his death was due to tuberculosis. Branwell was also a suspected “opium eater”. Emily and Anne both died of pulmonary tuberculosis in December 1848 and May 1849, respectively.
Charlotte and her father were now left alone together. In view of the enormous success of Jane Eyre, she was persuaded by her publisher to visit London occasionally, where she revealed her true identity and began to move in a more exalted social circle.
Her book had sparked a movement in regards to feminism in literature. The main character, Jane Eyre, in her novel Jane Eyre, was a parallel to herself, a woman who was strong. However, she never left Haworth for more than a few weeks at a time as she did not want to leave her aging father’s side.
In June 1854, Charlotte married Arthur Bell Nicholls, her father’s curate and, in the opinion of many scholars, the model for several of her literary characters such as Jane Eyre’s Rochester and St. John. She became pregnant soon after the marriage. Her health declined rapidly during this time, and according to Gaskell, her earliest biographer, she was attacked by “sensations of perpetual nausea and ever-recurring faintness.” Charlotte died, along with her unborn child, on 31 March 1855, at the young age of 38.
Her death certificate gives the cause of death as phthisis (tuberculosis), but many biographers suggest she may have died from dehydration and malnourishment, caused by excessive vomiting from severe morning sickness or hyperemesis gravidarum.
There is also evidence to suggest that Charlotte died from typhus she may have caught from Tabitha Ackroyd, the Brontë household’s oldest servant, who died shortly before her. Charlotte was interred in the family vault in The Church of St. Michael and All Angels, Haworth, West Yorkshire, England.
Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
You see, Diane, in the real world Charlotte got married to her father’s curate, who is more like a St. John character in the fiction.
So, you’re saying if Charlotte were Jane, she would choose St. John rather than Mr. Rochester, aren’t you?
Yes, definitely I am.
But, Kato, you said in the previous article that Jane accepted the virtual world at the end and got married with Mr. Rochester, and then the couple lived happily ever after unlike Sana and Adnan in the chatroom tragedy.
Yes, I said.
Why then did you say that?
Diane, have you ever heard of the following saying?
No, I haven’t. This saying is quite new to me.
Oh, is it? I thought you viewed the BBC miniseries “Freud”.
How do you know I viewed the above DVD?
…’Cause you showed me the DVD cover the other day in the library. Actually, I borrowed the above DVD from Joe Fortes Library.
Have you viewed it, Kato?
No, not yet. It’s a 350-minute-long 6-part story. I didn’t have enough time. I’m gonna see it this evening. Anyway, I thought you came across the above saying since you’re interested in the life of Sigmund Freud.
Yes, I’m quite interested in the world-famous psychoanalyst. But, I’ve never heard of the above saying. So, Kato, how come you’ve picked it up?
In the real life, Charlotte Brontë got married to her father’s curate, who is a St. John character in the fiction. Although she loved her husband, I’m pretty sure that the person she really wanted to love is a man like Mr. Rochester.
I see. So, you’re saying, Kato, Charlotte wrote “Jane Eyre” to marry Mr. Rochester in the virtual world, aren’t you?
Yes, that’s right. Charlotte wrote “Jane Eyre” to satisfy her inner desire and realize her dream because she knew that it would be hard to get married to a Mr. Rochester character in the real life.
I see. So, when Charlotte made love with Arthur Bell Nicholls in the real life, she used to think about Mr. Richester. Is that what you’re trying to say?
You’re telling me, Diane. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…
Kato, you’re quite sarcastic! If I really want to make love to Mr. Rochester, I would certainly marry him.
Yes, I’m sure you would. But, Charlotte couldn’t do that.
Apparently, her marriage was influenced by her father, if not arranged by him, I assume. In any case, Charlotte couldn’t get married to anyone outside her social circle in those old-fashioned days.
So, you’re saying Charlotte realized her happiness by marrying Jane Eyre to Mr. Rochester in the virtual world. Is that it?
Oh, yes, Diane. You’re telling me.
Yes, I belive in the virtual world.
Are you asking me?
Because I sometimes image myself in the Tale of Genji, you know.
Like a chatroom, I could talk to Genji as if I were Yugao.
Likewise, you might as well talk to your better half in a chatroom.
So, why don’t you believe in the net world?
Don’t you think that the chatroom will produce couples like Mr. Rochester and Jane in the near future—maybe, even at present?
Oh, well…, the virtual world is one thing; romance is another.
Come to think of it, I’ve never met a decent man in my life.
How come I’m always a loner?
I wish I could meet a nice gentleman at the library in my town as Kato met Diane.
Well, they say, there is a way where there is a will.
Have a nice day!
Bye bye …
■“Catherine de Medici”
■“Catherine the Great”
■“I wish you were there!”
■“Jane Eyre Again”
■“Jane Eyre in Vancouver”
■“Jane Eyre Special”
■“Love & Death of Cleopatra”
■“Spiritual Work or What?”
■“What a coincidence!”
■“Wind and Water”
■“Yoga and Happiness”
■“You’re in a good shape”
■“Net Travel & Jane”
■ 『ちょっと変わった 新しい古代日本史』
■ 『 ○ 笑う者には福が来る ○ 』