Careful What You Hunt, Lest You Catch

In Our World No One Ever Knows What To Do, And Everyone's Just As Clueless And Full Of Crap As Everyone Else, And You Have To Figure It All Out By Yourself. And Even After You've Figured It Out And Done It, You'll Never Know Whether You Were Right Or Wrong. You'll Never Know If You Put The Ring In The Right Volcano, Or If Things Might Have Gone Better If You Hadn't.

Some Of The Comments On Youtube Make You Weep For The Future Of Humanity Just For The Spelling Alone, Never Mind The Obscenity And The Naked Hatred.

I Have Spent Many, Many Hours Reading J.k. Rowling's Work. I Am A Known 'harry Potter' Fan.

His Crush Went From Exciting To Depressing, As If He'd Gone From The First Blush Of Infatuation To The Terminal Nostalgia Of A Former Lover Without Even The Temporary Relief Of An Actual Relationship In Between.

The Idea Of Some Kind Of Objectively Constant, Universal Literary Value Is Seductive. It Feels Real. It Feels Like A Stone Cold Fact That In Search Of Lost Time, By Marcel Proust, Is Better Than A Shore Thing, By Snooki. And It May Be; Snooki Definitely Has More One-star Reviews On Amazon. But If Literary Value Is Real, No One Seems To Be Able To Locate It Or Define It Very Well. We're Increasingly Adrift In A Grey Void Of Aesthetic Relativism.