Jabberwocky Lewis Carroll 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves,   And the mome raths outgrabe. "Beware the Jabberwock, my son!  The jaws that bite, the claws that catch! Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun   The frumious Bandersnatch!" He took his vorpal sword in hand:  Long time the manxome foe he sought— So rested he by the Tumtum tree,   And stood awhile in thought. And, as in uffish thought he stood,  The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame, Came whiffing through the tulgey wood,   And burbled as it came! One, two! One, two! And through and through  The vorpal blade went snicker-snack! He left it dead, and with its head   He went galumphing back. "And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?  Come to my arms, my beamish boy! O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"   He chortled in his joy. 'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves  Did gyre and gimble in the wabe: All mimsy were the borogoves,   And the mome raths outgrabe.

The title of this evening's entry comes to us, of course, from Lewis Carroll's poem "Jabberwocky" (seen above, with the original illustration by John Tenniel), found in his work Through the Looking-Glass. The true beauty of this poem is that it is on the precipice of understanding, lurking somewhere in the peripheries of comprehension, dancing on the razor-thin line between art and nonsense. (As Alice herself said, "It seems very pretty, but it's rather hard to understand! Somehow it seems to fill my head with ideas—only I don't exactly know what they are!") I highly recommend Carroll's works; contrary to popular misconception, they are not merely children's novels, but rather legitimate pieces of writing that can be appreciated at any age.

To be perfectly honest, nothing is happening in my life worth reporting. But I've never let that stop me before, so tally-ho! As some of you might have noticed, I celebrated my one-year anniversary at Melodramatic yesterday. This forum has been immensely important to me over the course of the last year, serving as a place where I may share my life and my thoughts with like-minded individuals, vent my problems and exorcise my demons through electronic catharsis, if you will. I have found many friends and other kindred spirits among these hallowed pages, and for that I am eternally grateful. I can only hope that Melodramatic shall remain in my heart and thoughts as this journey through hardships we call Life continues.

Life at the moment is pleasant enough, if only for its present neutrality and somewhat etherised nature. My emotions are muted for the time being, and I am not feeling nearly as lugubrious as I have been the last few days (the two entries before this shall attest to the state of mind in which I found myself). Today has been uneventful, thankfully. I ended up awaking at 3 p.m. after staying up until dawn working on the logistics of my new website: a simply-designed, fast-loading compendium of all my Melo entries (I discovered recently that even in my archives, my complete works are truncated) that people may browse if they are curious, or if Melo happens to be incapacitated. It isn't a particularly flashy website, but it gets the job done. Besides, I am not known for being a gaudy person, aside from the obvious exception of my extravagant and flamboyant writing. I'll keep you updated on its progress; if I have some time to work on it tonight, I ought to have most of it finished by the beginning of next week.

Last night Chris and I watched Ringu, a Japanese horror film from a few years ago upon which the American movie The Ring (and, although it was not nearly as well-done, Fear Dot Com) was based. As the American rendition both enthralled and terrified me (The Ring being the single most frightening horror movie I have ever seen, and I have seen more than my fair share), I decided to delve into the mythology behind it: Ringu, which, in turn, was based on a Japanese novel by Suzuki Koji. I must say that the two versions are quite different, Ringu relying on a "slow-burn" effect for suspense and terror while The Ring was properly "Hollywoodised," thereby employing startling scenes and disturbing imagery to chill viewers. In the end, I still prefer the American version over the Japanese, although Ringu was certainly unsettling in its own right.

Aside from Lewis Carroll's works, I am currently reading A Confederacy of Dunces, a brilliant and irreverent novel by John Kennedy Toole. Its protagonist (I use the term loosely), Ignatius J. Reilly, is the single most offensive fictional character I have ever encountered: contemptuous, judgmental, pedantic, supercilious; he regards modern society as inferior and depraved, and while lying on his bed, between massive bouts of flatulence and eructation, he writes page upon page of invective condemning the world and the morons who live in it. Ignatius reviles his mother and haughtily denounces all others with whom he comes in contact; he is a glutton, consumed by slovenliness and sloth, who watches movies and television only to belittle and deprecate their values, and forces copious quantities of junk food down his gullet. Any dissatisfaction invokes thunderous curses and, he claims, triggers his pyloric valve to close, rendering him debilitated and incapable of any physical activity. A Confederacy of Dunces appears to chronicle his misadventures in great and amusing detail—read it today!

Until next we meet, dear Reader, I bid you farewell. Au revoir, tout le monde!

[Exit Orpheum.]