har spelat så sjukt mkt old-school hp nu att ögonen blöder. broken four. förlåt att jag inte har en kalender och glömmer bort er, men verkligheten är en helt annan här borta i ystad. jag jobbar, jag sover, jag äter. jag umgås med familjen. spelar hp. kollar på svampbob. pretty much it. oh. and i read. alot.
i even forget who i am sometimes.
todays literary feature would be from hp7. just finished re-reading it. and some of it still doesn't make sense. it all solves itself all too neatly and some deaths are just pathetically unnecessary. like hedwig's, lupin's and tonk's. why did they die but for the sake of terrible deaths to scar harry, to weigh on his conscience. ive outgrown the characters, they were my saviours at age nine, ten. but now, they dont give me much anymore. i need another sort of character. i need the byronic hero, an antihero. harry is too good, too brave, too solve-all-this-and-live-happily-ever-after. which he does, which i am glad he does, but still everything falls too perfectly into place. narrow escapes dont even give chills and stomach ache anylonger, cause you know he will win. Still I'm enchanted beyond measure by the magic of that world, I'm still as transfixed as I was at nine years old. I still want to live in it. Rather that than this. But the grass is always greener in make-belief. I'll have to make-do with the second best thing to wave-your-wand-magic.
Science separates and studies. It says, "I am not that..."
Magic joins and communicates. It says "I am all that and more..."
Castles in the air vanish in the midday sun.
Be still and gather strength, for there is much to be done.
You are the Art, the Message, and the Song.
