|
myOtaku.com
• Join Today!
My Pages
• Home
• Portfolio
Vitals
Birthday
• 1986-09-17
Gender
•
Female
Member Since
• 2003-12-10
|
|
|
|
myOtaku.com: OzymandiusJones
|
Monday, June 14, 2004
Ray Bradbury
There is a poetry to his words; a bittersweet song of imagination; a song of prose that trips easily of the tongue; of metaphor and simile that fit easily into tales of Space and Time. His stories contradict each other - love/hate, fear/joy, melancholy/happiness - and yet, somehow, we don't mind. They reach from the age of the King Lizards to the Time of the Rockets, with stops in between for Melville and Dickens, Laurel and Hardy, Hollywood and Greentown, Illinois.
His words bring images; images of sun-filled afternoons, of inky-black nights, of wildernesses unimaginable to cities unseen; of moons, planets, suns and stars, of monsters and ghosts, goblins and specters, ghouls and aliens and people. Famous people, fake people, children loosely based in reality, with robotic nannies and virtual nurseries and tennis shoes that make you as sure-footed as a gazelle.
There is a rhythm when you read; unknowingly, you slide the words into this rhythm. His words fit the rhythm as if the rhythm was made for them. His words make you laugh, they make you cry, and they make you sit up in bed, afraid to close your eyes. For what may come when you close them? What may come – or, perhaps, what may you miss…?
P.S. That was a creative writing piece I did earlier this year about my fav. author, Ray Bradbury.
Comments
(5)
« Home |
|
