Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion

Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion

My Rating: ★★☆☆☆

**Spoiler Alert**

High class girl meets Low class boy. Falls in love.

Once the world used to be perfect, they believed. There was no High and Low classes.

They believed in that world. That is why they fell in love. They don’t believe in such differences. They can be overcome. Surely.

The Low class had a myth that once they were not so. Men were equal. They hoped for a cure that will come one day that will cure the society and save them.

“You can’t dream.” Vs “You can be whatever you want.”

The Low class were seen as animals by the High class. Her dad would never allow this to happen. Besides the low class have their own crazed leaders. They would not allow it either. The odds were stacked.

It didn’t matter.

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Sisyphus Speaks

.

Tired of your unceasing pity,

Of your allusions to hubris well rewarded,

Tired of being the symbol for absurdity,

And the one first invoked at failure,

Sisyphus speaks out now aloud:

I ask you — what of yourself?

The absurd hero is seen in you, not me!

.

Doomed to eternal failure I might be,

But blessed am I in every way,

When I stand next to you,

You common man of today:

Blundering though your life,

Never knowing a goal or a path,

How can you know that taste —

The sweet taste of success, when

You are not even blessed enough,

To know the strong spice of failure!

So stop your pitying glances,

And envy me, you foolish rats:

Symbol for failure I might assuredly be,

But at the least I know what my success is.

Have you seen its form this life,

Or even conceived dimly of the thought?

.

— For I see my goal everyday so clear,

And feel the exhalation of glory near,

I taste the spice of failure everyday;

And I live so I can fail and fail,

And try again the very next day,

Doomed to fail yet untiring, questing,

What greater success there be ever?

To strive in sweat to that distant goal,

And come tumbling down in grand despair!

,

Yes I would choose this lot of mine,

Over your blind and stumbling life,

With no grand goal, no glimpse of glory,

Just a sodden tramp in them marshes;

Rolling your stone on in the pointless plains,

Straining for nothing, attaining nothing,

And pitying me, for you dare risk nothing!

.

Sisyphus speaks out now aloud:

Come join me if you care to live a little —

Take that rock and start the impossible (Sisyphean?) quest!

.

.

.

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• Breaking Free of the Sisyphusean Boulder (donhall.blogspot.com)

 

The Wind’s Lament

I am the angry wind
that howls through these roofs.
I hear the whispers, the cries, the laughs.
I have no eyes, only ears.
I can see nothing, but hear the sum:
The minutest whisper, the hoarsest cry.
I drink in all, I delight in life.
I hear the laments, I try to caress
I hear the deceits, I lash out in rage.
I hear the empty preaching,
the murmurs - of the forced prisoners;
I hear of those anxious young desires,
to learn and progress -
in their rooms, when alone;
or in company, in discourses
on weighty matters,
in the loud chamber, with steel clanking:
and then, I bear their yawns, mixed
with the old voices teaching,
in those echoing rooms.
I was a zephyr,
but has been taught to sigh.
The young die here every day;
These graveyards of prisoners.
I escape each, and fly on
but more spring out every day -
capturing every empty corner.