Lightning forked and crackled through the churning black sky, while the ground and window panes reverberated with booming thunder. Unpaved paths were awashed with deep slushy mud and puddles, while swollen streams and rivers raced along the gutters, overwhelming the drains and cisterns.
I just got this leather-bound beauty of a book in a garage sale. Its covers are smooth and black; the pages, yellowed and antique in texture—no doubt a detail I will become fond of as time goes on.
Hell, I already like it. Today was just full of ventures to break the rut into which my life had sunk. First, I tried that new eatery on Eighth, and then, I bought this book at an old out-of-the-way garage sale in Eatonville.
Such a kind old woman selling them, and the cookies she gave to buyers were just delicious. I may go back just to get one, if not to acquire the recipe itself!
Well, my cat Bartolome is keeping me company tonight, and I must cut this first, rather short entry to a close.
I hope to update this with the memoirs of my life many, many times. May 27, Hello Diary, Daniel again. Today was as boring as usual.
Mark is nothing special—normal American family man from the suburbs. Is there something wrong with me if I start to think some human beings as disposable? It earlier crossed my mind how uninteresting some of the robotic creatures I liked to keep in my company really are.
Ashley, with her endless list of pet names for her latest boy toy. Stuart, his mumbling about the paranormal, UFOs and the like. Death will be a mercy to them, once they reach that fateful day— Wait, what am I writing? These are my friends; what the hell came over me?
Such a sweet old woman; it is too bad much of her family is dead or has forgotten about her. Her name is Susan Anderson, and her home is filled with so many curiosities from the ages of old, and it just fascinates me so.
I must go back there again sometime. I must pull this entry to a close. I am still asking myself how I could think such horrible things as I did about my closest co-workers.
May 28, Diary, I am going to be rambling tonight. I woke up because of a…. I remember it so vividly, even though dreams have almost never stuck in my head since the days of my puberty, and many of them were less confusing and a little more…wet.
It was when I was barely five years old. I was the son of the town butcher. My teenage sister at the time loved me, and I loved her. I never knew she was sad in any way; she always seemed happy enough. I never knew her true thoughts. In my dream, I was toddling through the house, but, something struck me as being amiss.
I looked up at the wooden knife block, seeing the curious gap in the row of black grips. Daddy always said to tell him when there was a knife gone from his counter.Shortly after Lu Xun’s publication of “Diary of a Madman” in , a student demonstration, inspired by the writings published in the New Youth, was held in Tiananmen Square in protest of “the government’s weak response to the Treaty of Versailles, which gave.
Oct 12, · Consequently, I changed the diary's title to, "The Missing and the Dead? " (which see), and began archiving diary and other links related to those primarily affected by . In this lesson, we will analyze and interpret the short story 'Diary of a Madman' by Lu Xun.
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