All The World's A Stage

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accioromione:

Just take in that J.K Rowling could have left it at The Deathly Hallows and she didn’t have to make Pottermore or anything she didn’t even have to write an epilogue or anything but she CHOSE to and she CHOSE to write these articles not for money or anything, like she’s literally writing fanfiction about her own story and that’s how cool she is so if you don’t like JK Rowling goodbye because she is actually amazing

(via pottergrangerandweasley)

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I haven’t got a speech. I didn’t plan words. I didn’t even try to. I just knew I had to get here, to stand here, and I knew I wanted you to listen, to really listen. Not just pull a face like you’re listening like you do the rest of the time, a face that you’re feeling instead of processing.

You pull a face and poke it towards the stage, and we lah-di-dah, we sing and dance and tumble around. And all you see up here, it’s not people, you don’t see people up here it’s all fodder. And the faker the fodder, the more you love it, because fake fodder’s the only thing that works any more. Fake fodder is all we can stomach. Actually, not quite all; real pain, real viciousness, that, we can take.

Yeah, stick a fat man up a pole and we’ll laugh ourselves feral, because we’ve earned the right. We’ve done cell time and he’s slacking, the scum, so ha-ha-ha at him! Because we’re so out of our minds with desperation, we don’t know any better. All we know is fake fodder and buying shit. That’s how we speak to each other, how we express ourselves is buying shit.

What, I have a dream? The peak of our dreams is a new app for our Dopple, it doesn’t exist! It’s not even there! We buy shit that’s not even there. Show us something real and free and beautiful. You couldn’t. Yeah? It’ll break us. We’re too numb for it. I might as well choke. It’s only so much wonder we can bear. That’s why when you find any wonder whatsoever, you dole it out in meager portions.

And only then until it’s augmented, packaged, and plumped through 10,000 pre-assigned filters till it’s nothing more than a meaningless series of lights, while we ride day in day out, going where? Powering what? All tiny cells and tiny screens and bigger cells and bigger screens and fuck you!

Fuck you, that’s what it boils down to. Fuck you for sitting there and slowly making things worse. Fuck you and your spotlight and your sanctimonious faces. Fuck you all for thinking the one thing I came close to never meant anything. For oozing around it and crushing it into a bone, into a joke. One more ugly joke in a kingdom of millions. Fuck you for happening. Fuck you for me, for us, for everyone. Fuck you.

Charlie Brooker and Konnie Huq, Black Mirror (via technogandhi)