Saturday, June 7, 2014

the forgetful horcrux

I was thinking about Harry Potter and how Voldemort made himself invincible by breaking his soul into fragments; each piece is called a horcrux. The only way he could be destroyed was if each horcrux was destroyed.

I remember writing about this some time ago but it was on a different context. I'm not really sure if I posted this but I can't seem to locate it here. Its my own fault because I say the same things in similar words in different patterns but y'all know me, still the same old G but I been low key. Posting this or maybe reposting this. K whatevs.


You hide things about yourself and piece yourself into horcruxes. You distribute them among people, each holding a piece but not having the slightest clue as to who you really are. Its like building some kind mystery that calls for attention and wants to be known but you don't even know which parts are real and which parts were made up along the way.

Real is truth. Truth is never partial because it cannot be taken out of context. The lack of truth is always past tense because the truth departs from it. Truth is prevalent. Truth is ever-lasting. Truth is only in this moment.

Do we look for truth by seeking out lies? Is the truth something that hides that you need to search for? I've heard that the truth lies within. So does the truth hide itself within you? So what is it that you try to hide in others? Have you developed a lie and established it as the truth about you? What happens to the truth then?

Hunting for horcruxes is like chasing an illusion. You move a step forward but you only take a step back. You'll never catch it because it doesn't exist. Why do you search for something that doesn't exist? You are chasing a dream in your sleep but you wake up to a reality that is embittered by your illusion.

You made an illusion real only by the power of belief. It is all in your head. In fiction, you are so busy thinking, there is no time to do anything else. In fact, time doesn't exist because you live in your head.

In my head.

I am telling the truth now but the moment you read the next word, my truth has become a lie because the truth moves into the present. If you're still reading this sentence, you've just read a comprehensive and confusing lie.

I am broken. As broken as you are. I leave parts and traces of myself to the people and to the moments that matter to me. Is something that is broken destroyed? Or do the pieces make up their own whole, making it indestructible?


- love and light, adrenalene

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