Harry Potter and the ultimate overexposure

Just to prove I don't live in a vacuum, I will make reference to the current big news. Will anyone read blogs? Does anyone actually even read this blog? (you are none of you commenting much, you sylvan creatures).
Maybe in a couple of days I will post spoilers about the Harry Potter book, but I would have to read it, and the penultimate one in order to do so, unless of course I made it all up. And frankly, I am a bit sick of the whole thing. I hope Harry does get killed off, J.K. Rowling does not write any similar novels, and Stephen King is not allowed anywhere near the Harry Potter character. Actually, I hope someone chops Stephen King's hands off, and cuts out his tongue. This would make it impossible for him to write, but possible to read bad reviews and hear negative assessments of his work. Every day he will suffer as little children scream in horror when they see him in all his ugliness. Hang on, they probably do already.
Anyway, I don't know if I have the intestinal fortitude to read the last two Potter books, particularly when I have found a Biggles novel I have not yet read. It is called Biggles in Australia, and has a picture of an aborigne on the front. I wonder if Biggles is hunting him?

Legitimate enterprise

[L7 - Wargasm]

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.

Both T.S. Eliot

I was pondering writing & blog writing, and my relation to the two. Now, I by no means categorise myself with Eliot, but I do so love having canon opinion to legitimise my own. A lot of people use their writing as a means to express their emotions and innermost thoughts; I find it easier to self abnegate.

This no doubt sounds odd given the self-referential quality of all my posts. There is a method to it all though; writing about the mundane and ridiculous means that I don't actually have to think about life. Simultaneously I amuse myself and provide the expected outcome for the handful of people who may read this.

I am certain that thinking is a dismal activity, leading inexorably to knowledge of injustice, regret that there isn't a god to curse, and a bout of self pity. Things perk up when I contemplate my viking style wake though; horned helmets a must, and furry lace up boots if possible. I'd like a re-enactment society to be involved, and a hearty pitched battle - wargasm is always tasteful.

I'd quite like someone on a cliff-top to shake their fist and cry "noooo" as well, or perhaps "AUE!" The ancient Greeks were onto a good thing with their hired mourners; if I had my way there wouldn't be a full head of hair left in the venue.

Reality underwhelms me, and truth is overrated, so I eschew hearts, hands, overt or otherwise, sentiment & sensitivity and cut to the stench.