'The Hobbit' by J.R.R Tolkien (Ch.1)

The following is going to be somewhat a regular thing that I'll do. Currently, I am reading 'The Hobbit' by the infamous Tolkien himself. It was recommended by a good friend and I was asked if I could review each chapter after reading them. I've now read up to chapter V since I began reading yesterday afternoon. I might be able to finish all five chapter reviews today, but we'll have to wait and see.

'The Hobbit' by J.R.R Tolkien
Chapter I

This book tells the adventurous tale of Bilbo Baggins; an unambtious hobbit who lives in a comfortable hobbit-hole in Bag End. He is whisked off by a wise wizard called Gandalf and a company of dwarves to raid the treasure hoard of Smaug the Magnificent dragon.

So far, this book has been a great read and highly enjoyable. Although, I felt that in the beginning of the first chapter, my gauge of interest soared up and down intermittingly. It was gripping up until the tenth page, wherein fourteen dwarves begin to arrive at Bilbos' hobbit-hole in small groups or individually. This should've a somewhat important starting point in the book, but it was written in such a repetitive uninteresting way that I found myself wishing that the story would hurry along abit.

But the story does hurry along after four pages when Gandalf and Thorin Oakenshield the dwarf arrive at Bilbos' home.

In summary of what occurs in this chapter, Gandalf, the company of dwarves (or dwarfs as you're told to write the plural of dwarf in the book) and Bilbo all discuss the raid and journey ahead. Bilbo of course, has no idea why thirteen dwarves are in his house gobbling up his cakes, tea and beer. And he also doesn't have a clue what matter is at hand. But Gandalf chose Bilbo to accompany them on the journey to be the burgular. All the dwarves have been told that this little hobbit is a professional, yet he is most certainly not. Bilbo however, goes along with it and they embark on their epic journey.

I must say though, it is an impressive book and is written very accurately. Tolkien creates a whole other world that grips you and sends your imagination reeling at the possibilities that could unfold. He does have a narrative style of writing. I can picture someone telling this tale around a huge campfire. It's hard to believe that this book was originally written for Tolkiens' children, but met instant acclaim once published.

A facinating read so far.

part of the beach

death of an unborn personality

Un-learn me,
hit the refresh button
revive, restore, rewind
until I’m a blank slate.
An unborn personality.
Then you can study me
better this time around.

Coffee, Strangers and Black Biro

I’m sitting in Starbucks
with a mocha flake in hand.
I love coffee shops.
The rich scent of coffee beans,
the relaxed atmosphere,
their idiosyncratic nature.
There’s a girl at the back
quietly sipping a cappuccino
there’s a scruffy book
sitting on her table and
a napkin with a coffee ring stain.
I can tell something’s bothering her
she looks like she’s waiting for someone
she keeps looking all around the shop,
out the window at the street and into
her coffee intensely, as if she’s absorbed
in her own straying thoughts as she
looks at the froth and chocolate powder.
She looks up and notices me staring
I turn away quickly, quite embarrassed,
although, from the corner of my eye,
I can see her smile. It makes me feel good.
I watch her scribble something on her napkin.
She checks her watch, takes one last swig of coffee,
lifts her book and puts her coat on to leave.
As she walks passed my table
she places the stained napkin in front of me
and exits the shop doors.
Some words are written in black biro,
“You look like the perfect stranger.”
I smile.

A Darker Dream

The world is entering a phase. Bare feet greet marble floor. Coldness shoots up through my toes and soles. The universe feels ambiguous and vague. Spiralling, unwinding, dizzy. Everything is frozen. Suspended between existence and non-existence. Glass is slowly falling. As if gravity is gradually gaining weight, but isn’t heavy enough to let the glass plunge. Suddenly, the glass cascades to the ground. It smashes into millions of microscopic shards that bounce across the black marble floor. Everything re-gains speed. Pots, glass, sand and soil collapse from the ceiling all around me. I stand firm. Barely existing in this reality. Hanging between this realm and the next.

Memories rewind in my head. Past experiences flicker. Moments I never knew I created, yet here they are. How can I see them so vividly now? How can one see yesterday, today? I can faintly hear the smashing of everything around me. The noise is growing. Increasing rapidly. Louder and louder. I snap out of the recollection and my black atmosphere collides with itself with immense force. Like a tornado consuming its own validity.

Then I woke up.

When I got out of bed and opened the window, the air outside was flat. It felt motionless and leaden. The room was cold. My warm flesh tingled as it became acquainted with the air. It was a new morning. A new day to do nothing.

I felt hazy and indefinite. Not only that, but I didn’t have a sense of time. It didn’t feel early neither did it feel late it the morning. It was somewhere in between. Nowhere.

I didn’t know what to do. I felt as if I’d woken up in a different body, or rather, I’d woken up in the same body, but it was inside that felt unfamiliar. I just sat there on my bed and listened to the silence. It was so pristine and clear. The stillness around me was continual.

I tried to trace why I felt the way I did. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just unusual and new. I somewhat liked it, but simply couldn’t unearth its origin.

I then brushed my teeth with the same toothbrush I used yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that … The sink looked deeper than usual. I felt my face melt into the plug hole. It felt intensely hot as it drooped. I turned on the tap and watched flesh, cartilage and blood swirl downwards.

I painted today.

Tried painting today.
It was fun.
I haven't done it in ages,
but I'm glad I did.

In the Name of your Religion

I want to ask you a question. Don’t worry; it’s a reasonably easy question that you can answer painlessly, if you try. And through my asking of this question, do not think lesser of me. After all, it’s just a question.

Would you treat me the same if I didn’t believe in your religion?

What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Ah, I see what it is.

I guess you don’t care for me as much as I thought you did.