The Book Tag

A book that made you laugh:

I don't think books have ever made me laugh? At least I don't remember any that did.
Maybe Holes by Louis Sachar.
I don't know if I laughed. But I remember the afternoon I read it. I was very happy.

A book that made you cry:

This has definitely never happened. :(

A book that scared you:

I think the first time I read Frankenstein I was quite petrified. There was also an Edgar Allan Poe short story that really fucked me up.

A book that disgusted you:

Misery by Stephen King. Never got around to reading it.

A book you loved in elementary school:

Enid Blyton - Famous Five, The Adventure Series, Noddy!, Secret Seven
Tell my Why series


A book you loved in middle/junior high school:

Animal Ark! Still love them.
The Mystery of the Dancing Men- Doyle
Gone with the Wind

A book you loved in high school:

Kane and Abel - Archer
Agatha Chrities
The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand
Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand
Hungry Tide - Amitav Ghosh

A book you loved in college:

Mill on the Floss - Elliot
Shadow Lines - Amitav Ghosh
Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie

A book that challenged your identity:

Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged

A series that you love:

Harry Potter
Animal Ark
Animorphs
Lord of the Ring
Famous Five
The Secret Series
Agatha Christie - Poirot Series
His Dark Materials - Pullman
Artemis Fowl
Jungle Book

Your favourite horror book:

Does Hannibal count?

Your favourite science fiction book:

Animorphs
I, Robot - Assimov
Foundation - Assimov
Artemis Fowl Series

Your favourite fantasy:

Artemis Fowl Series

Your favourite mystery:

And then there were none - Christie
Hound of Baskervilles by Doyle
The Secret of the Chimneys

Your favourite biography:

I can't think of any right now? Never been a big fan of them. I must have read something though.
Shrugs
Does the diary of Annie Frank count?

Your favourite “coming of age” book:

The Catcher in the Rye

Your favourite classic:

Mill on the Floss

Your favourite romance book:

Gone with the Wind - Margaret Michelle

And I tag. Anyone who reads this

Smith/Oracle: Why, Mr. Anderson, why? Why, why do you do it? Why, why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something, for more than your survival? Can you tell me what it is, do you even know? Is it freedom or truth, perhaps peace - could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson, vagaries of perception. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself. Although, only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson, you must know it by now! You can't win, it's pointless to keep fighting! Why, Mr. Anderson, why, why do you persist?

Neo: Because I choose to.

It begins with a purple muffler. Tendrils of a familiar scent creep upwards into your nostril. An attempt to gift wrap happiness in a song, a color or a thought. Can it be done?

Can goldfish have dreams? A lack of light sources in a dark room. A careful choice of words. A lack, hence the darkness. But what if the non-abundance was planned and the darkness intended.

Can goldfish have dreams?

Dreams that dissolve in the aquamarine truth of a captive life. Dreams that do not break into jagged shards. Dreams that do not echo with the tune of an Aerosmith song.

What is it that separates the Goldfish from a dream.

Splish, Splash.

End it.

Pitter Patter.
Splitter Splatter.
I am not enjoying this, one bit.
Not even a tiny weenie bit.
End it.
Just choke it.
Splitter Splatter.
Blip.
End.

Dropping unused condoms into moth-eaten, rust-eaten, weather-eaten and generally chomped upon trunk of broken and dejected fords.
Yup, go figure.

***

That car was highly cool? And old ford, that once must have rumbled and growled with intense ferocity. It probably must have seen a thousand people who touched the plush interiors and the smooth finishing of the dashboard with awe-struck fingertips.

It must have disdainfully overtaken so many cars, the thousand ugly duckling 800's and the potbellied ambassadors? It might even have crashed into a couple, scraping the paint here and there.

Paint, that brings me to my next querry. Wait, not querry, not thought? What then, can this simultaneous moment of grammatically incongruous prosaic spontaneity continue without the right word.

That's when Kaya drops from somewhere behind the mass of purple nerves on the left hand side top corner of the cranium ( ;) )

Kaya: You fool just go along with it? What color was the car? And don't give me bullshit about ruining your moment, the article sucks. And you know it? It's too floral! It's too vague. Just answer the god damned question, what color was the car?

Er, it was white.

Kaya: Er?

Too rusty to tell?
It probably was white, I can't be too sure though. I will ask Ylva, she knows these things...

But the point is, it was a wonderful car.
At least that's what people keep saying.
Was this? What that? Was it? Was what?

What's with the was-es ladies and gentlemen. The car is still there, in all it's moth-eaten, uni-wipered, ripped-tired glory.
And no, I am not being sarcastic. The car IS wonderful. How many cars do you know that have in addition to old, torn Tommy Hilfiger underwear, a sack of what is hopefully sand, a single unused condom in it's gaping trunk. It's all vrrooom. So bugger off!

And I did not even get to the cool cobwebs inside, let alone the funkadellic glass front headlight thingy.

I love that car, I love the way it has etched itself a nice little place in my head. Somewhere near Kaya's chocolate house.

Funkadellic.