Pieces of a shattered vision
Nov. 28th, 2005 01:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
niriniaIf anyone has the ability to get inside your head, and gnaw away at your precious nerves it must be your parents above all.
Allegedly, "all your so very lovely qualities you have from him", or so Lars claims. I described the old man (old emphasized there), and Lars found it appropriate to remind med that children are, to a rather great extent, a mirror of their parents. My dad's arrogant, annoying, full of himself, controlling, and demands of me to be cheerful even at the most ungodly hour. And he takes things like my for instance my tone of voice far too seriously for his own good. I'm no picture of politeness myself, but he can be aggravating like no other.
I am not looking at an english essay again, I loath them all. They are so much fun to write, but after beng viewed and corrected by a teacher they loose any spark of magic they possessed before. Creativity is out the door, or perhaps a grand, misty window in the mansion of my dreams ("the book, my dreams, written all in words that I can't read"); and I am, to my great despair, left with nothing but dry boredom and inane words devoid of life.
HP and the Goblet of Fire was disappointing, the director gets a pat on the back for at-times-interesting camera-angles, and beautiful close-ups of Rickman. A plus for nice-sounding soundtrack and fitting surroundings, but that is where the good things end. Rickman does a wonderful job as Severus Snape (darling Snivellus, such arrogance!), and whoever plays Minerva McGonagall the same. Harry, Ron and Hermione are a disgrace (Mr I'm-too-sexy, Master of Surprise, and the Queen of eyebrow-spasms).
The others aside, bakc to Rickman. He could do with a bit longer nails, but O! how he reminds me of Kjell. The same expression of "I'm better than you and I plan on enforcing my views", the same tint of disgust around the mouth. And his way of handling a cloak.
Finished "Lost Souls" earlier, the book itself is no TSH, but the epilogue had me close to tears of beautiful melodrama. I'm not too sure about buying another one of Brite's books, but perhaps, her livejournal, at the very least, is enjoyable.
Cheerio, I'm of to bore my arse off.
Allegedly, "all your so very lovely qualities you have from him", or so Lars claims. I described the old man (old emphasized there), and Lars found it appropriate to remind med that children are, to a rather great extent, a mirror of their parents. My dad's arrogant, annoying, full of himself, controlling, and demands of me to be cheerful even at the most ungodly hour. And he takes things like my for instance my tone of voice far too seriously for his own good. I'm no picture of politeness myself, but he can be aggravating like no other.
I am not looking at an english essay again, I loath them all. They are so much fun to write, but after beng viewed and corrected by a teacher they loose any spark of magic they possessed before. Creativity is out the door, or perhaps a grand, misty window in the mansion of my dreams ("the book, my dreams, written all in words that I can't read"); and I am, to my great despair, left with nothing but dry boredom and inane words devoid of life.
HP and the Goblet of Fire was disappointing, the director gets a pat on the back for at-times-interesting camera-angles, and beautiful close-ups of Rickman. A plus for nice-sounding soundtrack and fitting surroundings, but that is where the good things end. Rickman does a wonderful job as Severus Snape (darling Snivellus, such arrogance!), and whoever plays Minerva McGonagall the same. Harry, Ron and Hermione are a disgrace (Mr I'm-too-sexy, Master of Surprise, and the Queen of eyebrow-spasms).
The others aside, bakc to Rickman. He could do with a bit longer nails, but O! how he reminds me of Kjell. The same expression of "I'm better than you and I plan on enforcing my views", the same tint of disgust around the mouth. And his way of handling a cloak.
Finished "Lost Souls" earlier, the book itself is no TSH, but the epilogue had me close to tears of beautiful melodrama. I'm not too sure about buying another one of Brite's books, but perhaps, her livejournal, at the very least, is enjoyable.
Cheerio, I'm of to bore my arse off.
