Ok so my class saw a video on his life today....saaaaaad. Literally nothing went right for this dude. I mean even tho he wrote some damn good prose because of it, I wouldnt wish that much distress on anybody...ever. Most disturbing was the way in which he died. Nobody will ever know for sure, but the theory that he was used as a repeat voter is quite tragic. Possibly my fav story by him is The Masque of the Red Death...if u haven't read it, do do now. It's pretty badass.

Anyway, I'm supposed to be doing homework. But like, nawww. So yeah. I wonder if there will be a movie made about his life where someone actually plays him. I'd pay to c that any day.

Have any I'd u heard Vincent price's reading of The Raven....makes it 10 and 1/2 times scarier.

So long! :D

"LA MUSIQUE," says Marmontel, in those "Contes Moraux"* which in all our translations, we have insisted upon calling "Moral Tales," as if in mockery of their spirit -- "la musique est le seul des talents qui jouissent de lui-meme; tous les autres veulent des temoins." He here confounds the pleasure derivable from sweet sounds with the capacity for creating them. No more than any other talent, is that for music susceptible of complete enjoyment, where there is no second party to appreciate its exercise. And it is only in common with other talents that it produces effects which may be fully enjoyed in solitude. The idea which the raconteur has either failed to entertain clearly, or has sacrificed in its expression to his national love of point, is, doubtless, the very tenable one that the higher order of music is the most thoroughly estimated when we are exclusively alone. The proposition, in this form, will be admitted at once by those who love the lyre for its own sake, and for its spiritual uses. But there is one pleasure still within the reach of fallen mortality and perhaps only one -- which owes even more than does music to the accessory sentiment of seclusion. I mean the...

*To me the poem represents the transitory, ephemeral nature of time and our existence. When we meet a lover it's is like we pick up a handful of sand and as the years go by the sand slowly creeps through our fingers. No matter how hard or how desperately you try, you cannot stop the cascading sand, until you and your lover split and the last grain of sand has fallen. Then all you have left is a memory. And when you and your ex-lover pass on that memory is lost in time: like a dream within a dream. The second half seems to be about our own mortality and the nature of our existence. Once the last grain of sand has fallen into the pitiless wave, you're gone forever.200 years into the future no one will remember you. Your life, your hopes and dreams, your accomplishments and triumphs, will be lost in time like a dream within a dream.


*Life is vague, like a mist..our existence is fleeting. Whether brief or longlived, nevertheless, it remains to be just a few grains of the golden sand, everyday slipping through our grasp..before we know it..it is almost/ or is over..and all our pertinent and pressing important achivements, hopes and dreams and aspirations...