Paint it Black (Janet Fitch)

The last thing I wanna do is think, so spare my language inconsistency.

Isang obra. Mahusay na prosa.

Mapusok.

Si Michael Faraday ang pinakadisturb na karakter na na-encounter ko so far. Para siyang adult version ni Craig. Mas malala. Sa totoo lang hindi ko mabigyang-hatol ang kanyang karakter. Sa isang banda, nakuha niya ang aking simpatya hinggil sa kanyang malalim na pag-unawa sa buhay at ang kanyang pangarap na pamumuhay nang may kapayakan. Hindi lamang matalino, marunong din. Pinatunayan niya, at naalala ko na namang muli sa Jojo Boy ng Utos ng Hari, na hindi sukatan ng pagkatao ang pagiging isang drop-out, lalo’t sa ikahuling taon niya sa Harvard siya umalis. Ninais niyang pumakawala sa anino ng kanyang ama na isang writer at sa mga ekspektasyon ng kanyang concert pianist na ina. Sinubukan niyan maging pintor, sa kabila ng pangarap sa kanya ng kanyang ina na maging art critic. Nakipag-live-in siya kay Josie at namuhay sila in a Bohemian way. Simple. Tahimik. Ideyal. Napakarami niyang naibahaging ideya at kaalaman kay Josie, at dito ako humanga sa kanyang karakter. Kaya naman hindi na ako nagtataka kung bakit ganoon na lamang ang pagbreakdown ni Josie sa kanyang pagpapakamatay. Isang perpektong nilalang na umibig sa isang nobody with nothing. Siguro dahil na rin sa sobrang pag-iisip at matinding konsensya ni Michael kaya siya napasubo sa pagpapatiwakal. Para siyang si Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde na hindi. Hindi simultaneous ang kanyang pagpapalit-katauhan at hindi rin malinaw kung aling yugto (pre-Josie at post-Josie) ng kanyang buhay siya naging Dr. Jekyll at kung kelan naging Mr. Hyde. Pero ang sigurado ay naging monster siya in the end. At ito ang sumaklot sa kanya at naghatid sa kanya sa huling hantungan. Sa pre-Josie, tuta siya ng kanyang Ina. Nang makilala niya si Josie binago niya ang kanyang buong pagkatao. Humabi ng bagong kwentong malayung-malayo sa kanyang sariling kasaysayan. Sa madaling salita, at umaayon ako kay Josie sa puntong ito, panay kasinungalingan at pagbabalatkayo ang humarap, nagpakilala, at umibig kay Josie. Kaya dapat lang na halos mabaliw si Josie habang pinagtatagpi-tagpi ang mga pangyayari that led to his suicide.

Josephine “Josie” Tyrell is a bitch with a character. Ang downside lang sa kanyang karakter ay ang kanyang matinding bisyo sa alak, droga, at sigarilyo. Self-proclaimed addict. Ito ang kanyang paraan ng pagtakas. Subalit sa huling bahagi ng naratibo, nagawa niyang harapin ang bangungot sa kanyang buhay. To get over Michael and start anew. Dulot ng kaibhan ng cultural background kung kaya’t bias ang pagtingin ko sa kanyang karakter. Bawat eksena niya, kung hindi siya bangag, lasing at panay ang hithit ng kanyang Galoise. Ganoon siya madepress. Sa gulang na labinsiyam, araw-araw siyang umiinom at nagyoyosi samantalang nagtatrabaho. TO BE CONTINUED

Favorite quotes/lines:

She had never met anyone as lonely as Michael. Lonely, and despising his own loneliness, disdaining the crowd while hoping for connection.

(ehem..ehem..*harap sa salamin*)

There was always someone to tell you what to do. It was only when you tried on your own that you got into trouble.

(screw that!)

Nature was always there, no matter what.

(Love nature, next to thy self)

A fish has no concept of water.

(A cactus has no concept of desert.

Nobody knew anyone else’s private world. In the end, they were all alone as inmates on death row, side by side. Sometimes you could get a look at one another with a little pocket mirror, cell to cell, but that was all.

(Alone is where the heart is. ---Emily Strange.)

She wasn’t thinking about the absurd or what the soul did after it died. She was thinking about clothing, about accessories, about shoes and earrings and hair.

(Minsan kapag nagiging mahina ako, hindi ko maiwasang hindi hilingin na sana hindi na lang ako natutong mag-isip. Para sunod lang sa agos ng mundo. Pero ayon nga sa Norse mythology, die fighting. Resist to the end!)

But she never chose to be ugly when she could be glamorous. There was no mystery to that, it was all right there and more than you wanted.

Man cannot stand very much reality.

(Kaya maraming tumatakas. Ako ba saan ako pupunta, sa sementeryo o sa mental... o sa gubat.)

Nothing that beautiful could live long. It wasn’t allowed. You only got a taste, enough to know what perfection meant, and then you paid for it the rest of your life. Like that guy chained to a rock, who stole fire. The gods made an eagle eat his liver for all eternity. You paid for every second of beauty you managed to steal.

(My dear Prometheus)

Just like life. Each person was like one line of music, but nobody knew what the symphony sounded like. Only the conductor had the whole score.

(Who is the conductor, the Creator or the Imperialist?)

They weren’t going to be like everyone else, they were Blaise and Jeanne, eating dreams and drinking blue sky.

(That's my vision... to eat dreams and drink blue sky and smoke full moon)

It’s what’s not there that’s most important.

These people, they picked you up and played with you and left you lying in the rain.

Punishment was swift.

They say time heals all wounds but they’re lying.

It was in her blood after all, how to wound and belittle, she’d grown up with it and now here it was, streaming out of her like gasoline…

It was a mistake you could never recover from. Though he pretended he had, he never did.

She was crying again. Oh God, oh God. Though there was no God. No rest, no beauty, no truth.

(Josie is a real pessimist. Except for vice.)

Tagged along, tried to fit in. she’d started as someone and became nothing at all.

(Social climbers have no place of their own. Ultimate squatters of the world. If I am Hades, i wouldn't even accept them.)

The brave thing was to admit it. To say, I have fucking had enough. To take the fucking gun and put it in your mouth and pull the trigger. I’m doing this, assholes, and it ain’t no accident. Look, here’s how. If you were going to do it, you should know that’s what you were doing. You eyes wide open.

(The wonder of suicide. You don't have to clean up your own mess. You leave it to them, the living.)

Like a sick dog, trying to find the farthest, most remote place to do his dying.

(Even in the most remote place, wherever I may be, as long as i die resisting, it'd be alright.)

Just as well, 4 was unlucky. Four was difficult and misunderstood, a genius before its time, it belonged to the planet of unexpected disaster.

(Was i four?)

That was how you did it. You let go, you left all that behind, you refused to remember. You let the dark in. You let your head become a ruined flower bed, overrun by rank growth, coarse and ugly as castor beans on a neglected hillside, monstrous and throbbing with cancerous life, the red and green poisonous leaves, the spiny testicles of its seedpods. Your black thoughts colonized you like a disease, the absence of faith most of all.

(The art of depression leading to suicide.)

Parallel lines met only at the vanishing point, that’s what they taught the baby artists.

(Parallel lines meet at infinity. --- MATH)

Who can judge another man’s suffering?

Down the passage which we did not take towards the door we never opened into the rose garden.

They have ladders that will reach further but no one will climb them.

To be or not to be… It’s the only question, really. Zero or one. Accept
or reject.

(Accept. To die resisting, that is.)

Death was bigger than anything. Bigger than love. Big as the universe. Death now or death later, that was the real question.

(Death is the only truth.)

The pain of living another day, and another after that.

(To live is to suffer, and the only solution to the problem of living is to suffer with courage. ---Norse teaching)

How long did you want to lie on that rock with life’s dirty bird chewing on your liver?

(Until my liver's all gone... suffer with courage 'til the end.)

Even if zero had taken over the entire universe, the biggest fascist of all, one tiny gesture could deny it. One footprint, one atom. You didn’t have to be a genius. You didn’t even have to know that was what you were doing. You made a mark. You changed something. It said, “A human being passed here.” And changed zero to one.

(The bigger the number of zeroes in your bank account, the more fascist you can be. Heehee)

Bagamat isang piksyon, hindi ko maiaalis ang pagpapatotoo sa aking agam-agam batay na rin sa mga mangilanngilang nabasa kong mga akda sa literaturang Filipino na ang mga artist higit sa sino pa man ang may pinakamatinding angst sa buhay. Hahaha!