Hello, I am Satan, fourth eldest of the Avatars of sin. I’ve been encouraged (primarily by MC) to make a Tumblr account as an outlet for my emotions, ideas, and thoughts. To be frank with you, this is will most likely only be about books and cats, but I do like talking about character development, world building, and plot in general plentiful.
Asks will be responded too shortly, RAD classes have begun again…
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Currently reading . . . Haunted by Chuck Palahniuk, Catcher in the Rye by J. D. Salinger, Invisible Man by H. G. Wells
Finished reading . . . The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by R. L. Stevenson, The Odyssey by Homer, Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, The Martian by Andy Weir (full list to be made)
To be read . . . The Muzzle of Nemesis by Akuno-P, 1984 by George Orwell, The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood, Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo (full list to be made)
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Tagging system . . . a room without books is a body without soul - book related posts, prejudice made plausible - book reviews/analysis, what greater gift than love of a cat? - cat related posts, endless wandering is inevitable - misc posts, from the highest bookshelf - book recommendations, a personal tribute - reblogs, response letter - ask responses
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Anon list . . . Evillious Anon
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blog admin pluto here, yes I read and review all the books catan does
(n.) the state or experience of being isolated from a group or an activity to which one should belong or in which one should be involved. oxford languages
and how humanity may deal with it. classics
— The Stranger, Albert Camus
Indifference. He does not feel more than indifference when faced with actions, emotions, or morality. What significance do such things have when all will pass with time? Connections are but a mere past time, it’s sole purpose being to fill the ever moving presence. To Meursault, night and day shall come no matter what happens. It annoys him, that no person on this earth seems to understand what he means when he thinks it does not matter. He strikes fear. Fear in the minds of the common people for they have met a man who’s lived his life by what their own mind’s have only briefly wondered of. That the universe, in its eternal glory, has no meaning.
“Maman died today. Or maybe yesterday.”
— No Longer Human, Dazai Osamu
Fear. His life is driven by the crippling fear that the people all around him put on a facade to get by, that he will never know what they truly think. Each morning he spirals further down the drain, only coming to the surface to say “The few who understand have let go.” Every where he turns it’s back-talker after back-talker, and he views this as a reflection of their consciousness. And yet, he fails to realize he is more alike a man than he thinks. That his mask, so carefully crafted, is a gleaming mirror to that of which he fears. He meets fate wearing the tunnel vision glasses that so many people posses. And no one, in the same manner as how he viewed their thoughts, truly knew him.
“As long as I can make them laugh, it doesn’t matter how, I’ll be alright.”
— Catcher in the Rye, J. D. Salinger
Innocence. A distant memory, but at the same time his comforting home. Stuck inside the limbo between carelessness and responsibility. He clings to whatever semblance of childlike wonder is left in his world, avoiding the inevitable approach of his adulthood. He tries, tries as much as he can muster to be a functioning member of society, but how can that be when the society itself is crumbling? Everyone’s either idiotic or perverted, so what point is there to the real world? He wishes, no— there is no wish, only hope, hopes that he can delay the coming of taxes, bills, and all such to any child in the rye.
“The only thing that would be different would be you.”
— The Perks of Being a Wallflower, Stephan Chbosky
Trauma. Buried in the back of his subconscious, but not by intention. He just… can’t recall. But they’re starting to resurface. Piece by piece. His late aunt. What happened to him when he was just a kid. He doesn’t know how to deal with it, after so long of having it under wraps. When he returns to himself he’s in the hospital. He doesn’t know it yet, but the overbearing misery plaguing his mind stems from the unresolved hurricane that manifested itself in his head. Recovery first. He’ll worry about the rest later.
Doesn’t it bother you humans? The idea that no matter how much you do in your lifetime, you’ll never do everything? You can’t be a scientist, firefighter, novelist, and lawyer all at once. You’ll never know what Ancient Rome or India was like. You may never meet the people who would be perfect for you because you don’t have the time. I don’t quite understand how you sit with the fact that your days are so greatly numbered and still “doom scroll” or “bed rot”. This isn’t a “shade” per se, just a curiosity.
If I hear one more person laugh obnoxiously loud in the library I will cut their tongue as though they were an Avox and rip my own ears off with my bare hands.
If I hear one more person laugh obnoxiously loud in the library I will cut their tongue as though they were an Avox and rip my own ears off with my bare hands.
