Kevin’s corner of the internet

I sit at the desk looking at the exam paper, i remember everything about the subject.
The teacher in charge of the exam tells us we can start. I take out my pen, place my other tools to one side. I open the exam paper, i read the first question. Then panic sets in.

All sorts of emotions fill me. I calm myself and start writing my answer, trying to cram as much detail into what I’m writing as i can muster. The thought crosses my mind that for all my so called intellect i am unable to do something as simple as an exam.
And so with the fear that I am a fraud, faking intellect, i finish the exam paper with 15 minutes to spare. I cannot face the task of rereading and checking my answers. I close the exam paper and place my arms onto the desk and then place my head onto my arms. And sit there waiting for the exam to finish. To be free of the fear.

The teacher collects the papers and lets us go row by row. Out into the daylight i feel free.
And the waiting for results begins. I occupy my time with television, reading books. Planning my future. Results day arrives. I collect my results and my face drops.
My grades don’t match up to expectations that people have of me. I go to the college and the tutor accepts me onto the intermediate course, even though my science grade is an E (I got a C on the mock exam).

Now the reasons for my poor grades ?

• I hardly ever went to school because of the bullying

• Fear blocks my academic ability

• Lazy behaviour during my revision time

• Unable to function as a person

Because the bullying at my school was so intense i avoided school as much as i could. I nearly failed to attain the required attendance levels for the GCSE exams themselves. I somehow managed to force myself to attend school, running the gauntlet of the bullies.
The fear that i am stupid often crops up into my head. I do not believe people when they say I’m intelligent or smart. This fear blocks my ability to function as a student. Problems that i find easy to solve outside of academic study become impossible. The constant expectations that people have of me also add to the pressure. Which leads me to lose touch with reality. I day dream about fantastical things, anything to take away the dull ache of my fears.

Instead of revising, i do everything i can to avoid it. I watch TV, listen to songs over and over again.
I read my school books before each exam, trying to cram all the details into my head. Even though i have the ability to recall certain things when i link them in my head (information becomes like a puzzle or pattern for me). This ability however becomes useless in stressful situations like an exam.

I freeze up, gibberish is written. I leave the exam hall.
And the process starts all over again. If i ever want to achieve anything in life, the fear that prevents me from reaching my full academic ability is something i have to overcome.
But it means solving the root causes of my problems. Which are deep seated and far too weird to explain in a way that does not make me sound like an unhinged idiot.
Sometimes i do not feel as if i have the courage to smash my way through all of my problems. I fear the future, because it means another year full of promise and failure.

I am running out of excuses. But i cannot function properly. Because of the depression and my fears i am trapped in a cycle of positive starts which turn into a blood soaked battle field where my courage is slaughtered by my fears. And my self confidence is impaled upon the constant tormentor that has followed me since my teens. That being depression, an insidious disease of the mind.

It creeps upon you, robs you of your talents and confidence. And what is left behind ?
A shell of a man, who fears everything and everyone. Closed off from the world, because the pain is too much. The pressure of trying to live up to friends and family’s wishes that you’ll get yourself sorted. Be happy like everyone else. When all you want to do is fill you day with tasks that require little to no effort. To numbing the pain with often violent means against oneself.

Failure is what i fear the most. And i often play straight into it’s hands. But there is some spark of defiance left in me. Something that refuses to die. If not for that, i do not think i would have been in my room at 4:21am typing this stream of thoughts into the written word.
Which is perhaps the best way that i am able to express myself fully. Well almost. There are things that i do not wish to put into words.

Sitting alone with my thoughts, i can see shadows of memories long since buried. Those memories which have such a powerful pull on me. The memories which remind of times when i have been dying with the pain of losing people who were close to me. Simple memories that should be joyful, turn into weapons of that tormentor in my head.

Running away from those memories is like running from my past. A place i do not wish to revisit, but as much as i try to run away. The shadows reclaim me. I am instantly transported back to that day when the wind was knocked out of my sails. The day when my world turned dark and i become the recluse i am today.

The day on which my grandmother died. I can remember it clearly.

I was with my friend Steven as usual, we were going to muck around in a shop on a games console. But my dad was at a telephone box and he told me to get home.

I entered the house to find my mum on the sofa in tears. She told me that her mother and our grandmother had died. She had raised the alarm earlier in the day, because my grandmother hadn’t answered the phone. My cousin David and his father went to the house. David found her dead on the sofa. My mum then went to the village to see things for herself. She had come back in time so she could tell us the news.

I cannot describe how i felt. Because to be honest i was numb with shock and to a certain extent i remain so to this day.

It took about a week for the funeral to take place. The day came, and i was determined to be strong for my mum and not shed any tears. I guess i should have. But i just sat in the church in numb disbelief staring at the coffin. I remember a cousin berating me for not crying. I wasn’t really listening to her. I was remembering things my grandmother had said to me over the few short years that i had known her. All the things she had done for not only me, but for her grandchildren and her own children.

The last thing i remember about that day was throwing dirt onto her coffin and shuffling off to the village hall for her wake.

My troubles began with her death. I don’t think she would have wanted me to have made the mistakes i have done or to have reacted to her death in the way i did.

But my world came crashing down around my ears.

My dad has his own way of dealing with death, but he did not really help me with getting over my grandmothers death. My Mum has tried her best to help me through the bad times. But i don’t think she or my dad understand me.

This is about the millionth time that i have written about this subject. I guess i am still trying to come to terms with my grandmother’s death.

I am a cold human being on the outside, i rarely let people get to know that sensitive and inquisitive person that lurks beneath all the pain. I am afraid of letting people get close. I do not feel as if i can truly care about people in an open way, least they get taken away.

I am the key to the lock in your house
That keeps your toys in the basement
And if you get too far inside
You’ll only see my reflection -
Climbing up the walls by Radiohead, copyright EMI etc.

I purchased the Canon EOS 400D last week. I am now quite chuffed as i have a decent entry level digital SLR camera.

Some pictures:

Light fills life with joy. The world seems to be a vibrant and colourful place with light.
No cares and no worries.
Then one day the light begins to fade. At first you don’t notice. Colours start to become less vibrant.
As if they are fleeing an unknown attacker. The Joy seems to seep away from you.

The vibrancy cascades into darkness.
And you are lost in the darkness. So you start searching for the light you once knew so well. The light you took for granted. The light that guided you home during those moments in life that seemed unbearable.

But all there is the void that is the dark, where no light shines.

But you hope you can catch a glimpse of the light, to catch the joy you once felt.

Sometimes you catch hold of a strand of light, before it slips through your fingers like sand slips through fingers.
You slowly rediscover the path that leads to the light. But the darkness is waiting to catch you off guard and tempt you down the paths that lead away from light, joy and indeed life.

But you remember the light when it shone brightly in your mind.

That memory gives you power to fight the dark. Though it is a seemingly hopeless desire or hope that drives you forward on the search to way out of the darkness and into the light.
You hope you can walk amongst the light once more where everyone else seems to be.
But the dark is always waiting for you, like a thief in the night.

I decided to restart my blog with a fresh install and a new directory path on my website.

I will try and keep this blog updated at least once a week with my thoughts.

Otherwise you will find me on cultureforall (see links panel).

Walking down twisted lanes of memories that have a magnetic pull on you.
Smells flood your senses, reality shimmers in front of you.
And there you are seeing one of the twisted lanes of memory before you.
Every detail is clear in your mind, from the time of day to the weather.
Caught up in a moment from the past. Feeling all the old hurts and emotions.
Being in a place you thought you’d forget.
But as always the twisting paths and lanes of memories hold those moments, distilled in time.
Waiting for something to trigger that memory and for it to pour it
You face things you do not wish to.
And then as soon as it has begun, the memory starts to fade and the reality slowly starts to focus. Sometimes you may find yourself in bed or just about to walk out in front of a bus.
But the trace of the memory is there for days on end. You become caught up in the past. But then like all memories it goes back into it’s bottle along with all the other memories.
And you once again set out on those difficult lanes of memory, that twist and turn before you. Unsure you take a few steps in what you hope is the right direction. Always the shadow follows hoping to snare you with memories.
Kevin Paul Taphouse.

You walk down a lane, the sun is shining. The people are happy. The birds are singing.
Then the storm clouds come. People dive for cover.
The birds scatter into the trees. Which start to creak in the wind, which is building up.
The first tiny drops of rain patter down, then come in volleys. Like arrows on a battlefield.
The trees are bending in the wind, becoming sinister with each creaky movement.
Then you are alone, surrounded by the music of the wind and rain.
Lost to the modern world. And you see before you a windy lane of such force you want to run and hide from it.
Then as soon as the storm has come it is gone.
The sun comes out and all those feelings go away.
And light fills the lane, and at that point life seems worth living. At least until the next storm hits you on the lane that is life.

If you were to ask me the question “what is you’re state of mind, Kevin”, I’d probably say a lot of gibberish about my latest toy or obsessions.
When in fact that is just one of the shield’s I use to hide myself away from people.
It’s irritating for some people. It is second nature for me to do this.
Not any longer though. I’ve been thinking long and hard about my future and I came to the obvious conclusion that I don’t have a future.
In the sense that I’m doing nothing of any worth. Ok I may occasionally listen to friends problems and try and help the best I can.
But I’ve wasted my life so far, on stupid obsessions and reasons for not getting anything done.
Oh I can wax lyrical about radiohead and doctor who, but it is a façade of my real state of mind.
It is one of confusion, highs and lows, strong urges to do something worthwhile.
So what is my state of mind right now ?
To be honest it is one of confusion over my problems, but it has a determined edge to it, one which wants to push all those confusions out of the way, so I can grab hold of my life.
Otherwise I will stand still, while other people move on, and will most likely die alone, with nothing to show for my time on this tiny little rock.
To change that I have to become brave and face the world, from which I’ve been hiding from for so long. Meeting Racquel was a turning point in how I’ve been thinking lately. Debating which subject to study (history or psychology), she helped me realise that I need to stop debating and go for psychology.
So instead of typing empty words, I will have to prove to myself that I am a worthwhile human being and that I do not need to hide behind the mask of my obsessions and fears.
If ignore this conclusion then I risk falling into the very life I’m most afraid of. Separated from others and dying alone. When I say I don’t fear death, I mean I don’t fear what comes after death. I fear dying alone and always have done.
But I have my life ahead of me to prevent that fear from becoming a reality.
By dying alone I mean having no family or friends around to see me till that moment when we part from those loved ones and go on a journey into the unknown.

I do realise I have what some people could call a morbid fascination with death.
Not because I have some great death wish (maybe at one point in the past I did), but I’ve have been around it for a number of years. Since early childhood in fact.
Is death normal? How do you deal with death?
The questions are endless. But if you think too often about death, you sometimes find life to be a nightmare in many different ways. I suppose it depends upon each person.
I do talk about death in an open manner. Some people probably find the entire subject as a taboo. Perhaps because they do not want to think about their own death.
Or because it’s not a subject to talk about in polite circles of conversation.
That’s probably a British thing going on there.
So I shall now describe in some detail my experiences with death of loved ones.
So I had a cousin called Sharon, who was the life and soul of a party. Very much that cool relative we all seem to have. I have faint recollections of Sharon. From her perm to her outright joy of life. She was around 20 years old when she died.

On the verge of getting married and having her life ahead of her. However one night for whatever reason, she was travelling in her boyfriend’s car and she didn’t wear a seat belt. The Boyfriend from what I learned was perhaps a little too tired to be driving, and lost control of the car (if a tyre blew out I don’t know). Sharon ended up going through the windscreen and maybe hit a tree. I’ve asked my dad for the details but he doesn’t want to talk about it. Though I shall probably come to my dad’s views or lack of them a bit later. She was in coma for a few days, and died. My crazy Grandmother didn’t like it because she couldn’t see Sharon, due to a host of reasons I really don’t need to go into. Because what I know is extremely sketchy at best.
Suffice to say any pictures of Sharon were destroyed by my grandmother. Who has no capacity to deal with death in any shape or form? Indeed she believes her dead mother speaks to her sometimes (though I think it’s old age and years of being wrapped in cotton wool i.e. she’s gets away with her temper tantrums for the most part).
All I remember is that I saw Sharon a few weeks before she died and then I was told that she had died. My other grandmother was cool about it all. She looked after us while my parents went to Sharon’s funeral. She may have imparted some of her pearls of wisdom, but I really don’t remember. I have a block on most of my childhood memories. I can remember snap shots of my childhood in full Technicolor on occasions.
So I guess from that point on my innocence if I had any was shattered. An Uncle also died around the same period in the 80’s, he was 34 and full of life. Though he was not the first child my cool Grandmother had lost (one child died from cot death).

She was a good person, with her flaws. A posh telephone voice, a penchant for scrubbing people clean if she thought they weren’t clean enough and her love of swearing and then telling us not to say those words it’s rude with one of her classic stern looks (she reduced many people to tears in the village, from what I remember).
So we fast forward to 1992, I’m a quiet child though extremely inquisitive with a good thirst for learning. Over the course of the past year my grandmother had been getting steadily worse. She told my mum at one point she had cancer, then changed her mind about it.
In any case I saw her a few days before she died. She looked terrible, ducking into the bathroom every now and then. And you’d hear her coughing quite violently. She was of course bleeding from a clot in the lung. It was eerie saying goodbye to her, she looked a bit sad when she said goodbye. I think she probably knew her time was nearly up. But being the tough woman that she was, she got on with life. Partly to protect some of her children and us grandchildren. And also to protect my granddad from the truth of the dilatation. He may have been a violent git towards her in the past, but I guess he loved her in his own way.
So there I was walking home from school, about to go into a department store to play on an NES, when my dad popped up from out of a phone box and told me in no uncertain terms to go home without arguments.
I arrive home, my mum is in a flood of tears. I can’t remember who told me she died, it might have been my dad or my mum. But my world was thrown off course right there.
I don’t blame that moment in time on my mental health problems entirely a lot of other things contributed to it.
So we get into the car and go back to the village. It was quite surreal at my grandmother’s cottage. Even though she was died, there were still signs of her presence. I even sat on the sofa on which she died. I was numb with shock; I really couldn’t grasp the reality that the grandparent that I adored the most was gone. That I would never speak to her again or have one of her extremely unhealthy birthday cakes (they were usually covered in butter cream).
My dad as usual took it in his stride, helped where he could. My Grandmother and dad got on pretty well over the years. As did my Uncle John, who with my cousin David found her dead on the sofa. She’d apparently called the emergency services but died while having one last cigarette. So very typical of her. She made me promise her about year before her death that I wouldn’t smoke. And I have kept that promise to this day. It is the reason for my rabid desire to ban smoking entirely. I don’t give a flying shit about smokers saying they can smoke if they want to. To me Smoking is one of the worst habits mankind has ever taken up.
But I digress onto the funeral. My mum went in the cars that followed the coffin. Most people in the village watched the funeral possession go by from what I can remember.
The Church in the next village was packed out. I was just so alone that day. Everyone else was crying, but in my disbelief I just couldn’t cry. It is for that reason I hardly ever cry.
It takes a great emotional event for me to leak tears.
It’s not because I don’t feel emotions (in fact my emotions rage under a mask of coldness). It’s just that I cannot express them all that well.
A cousin had a go at me for not crying. I just stood there looking at the coffin, trying to take in the reality. We then went to the graveyard back in my grandmothers village (Oxford Uni brought the church after it closed, they store books there). I threw dirt onto her coffin, and then the wake which I barely remember. And weeks turned into months which turned into years.
I just couldn’t deal with it. Not even now, 10 years or so on from that day.
I think I shall leave things there for now, and write a bit more about this subject. I feel quite emotional right now. Memories are flooding into my mind.

I’ve been wondering about that gleam of triumph for quite sometime.
First of all lets consider what Harry’s blood contains, traces of his mother’s sacrifice, which protected Harry from Voldemort’s killing curse and which made it backfire on the Dark Lord.
I have read many different theories over the years on the various Harry Potter fan sites and editorials on mugglenet, some of which went along the lines of Dumbledore being evil.

Now armed with the knowledge of the prophecy and what the power the dark lord knows not, I have formulated a rather bizarre cheese cauldron worthy theory, in which Dumbledore is not evil, but in which the gleam of triumph was yet another piece to the puzzle of how Harry may cause Voldemort’s final downfall.

We learn from Dumbledore in the Horcruxes chapter of the half blood prince, many interesting facts about Harry. That he is just as pure of heart as he was when he was 11 and looked into the mirror of erised and saw not immortality and riches, but the only way to thwart Lord Voldemort.
Canon evidence quote 1:
‘You are protected, in short, by your ability to love. Said
Dumbledore loudly. ‘The only protection that can possibly
work against the lure of power like Voldemorts! In spite of all
the temptation you have endured, all the suffering, you
remain pure of heart, just as pure as you were at the age of
eleven, when you stared into a mirror that reflected your
heart’s desire, and it showed you only the way to thwart Lord
Voldemort, and not immortality and riches. Harry, have you
any idea how few wizards could have seen what you saw in
that mirror? Voldemort should have known then what he was
dealing with, but he did not!’
Pages 477-478, chapter 23, the half blood prince, UK edition

Dumbledore goes on to say that because Harry’s soul is untarnished and whole it has incomparable power over what is left of Lord Voldemort’s mutilated soul.
Canon evidence quote 2:
‘But he knows it now. You have flitted into Lord Voldemort’s
mind without damage to yourself, but he cannot possess
you without enduring mortal agony, as he discovered in the
Ministry. I do not think he understands why, Harry, but he
was in such a hurry to mutilate his own soul, he never paused
to understand the incomparable power of a soul that is
untarnished and whole.’
page 478, chapter 23, The half blood prince, UK edition

We also learn that Harry’s power over Voldemort is just love (see quote 1). Perhaps one of the uniquely deadly weapons Voldemort handed Harry when the curse backfired.

Now if we take a look at Harry’s soul and his power to love where can it lead us?
Back to the end of the order of the phoenix and Voldemort’s failed possession attempt on Harry.
Canon evidence quote 3:
‘If death is nothing, Dumbledore, kill the boy…’
Let the pain stop, thought Harry … let him kill us … end it,
Dumbledore … death is nothing compared to this …
And I’ll see Sirius again …
And as Harry’s heart filled with emotion, the creature’s coils
loosened, the pain was gone;
Page 720, chapter 36, The Order of the phoenix - UK edition

We learn from Dumbledore in the lost prophecy chapter that Harry was saved from possession not because he could not close his mind, but because he opened up his heart about Sirius Black.
canon evidence quote 4:
‘In the end, it mattered not that you could not close your mind. It was your heart that saved you.’
Page 743, Chapter 37, Order of the Phoenix - UK edition

Fast forward to the Horcruxes chapter in the half blood prince and we learn from Dumbledore that Voldemort cannot possess Harry without enduring mortal agony, whereas Harry can flit in and out of Voldemort’s mind with little damage to himself.
The question i ask myself is why does Voldemort feel this mortal agony and Harry is undamaged?
Part of the answer is that Harry’s soul has incomparable power over what is left of Voldemort’s soul which is beyond repair, so perhaps that causes Voldemort’s soul to weaken.

The other part of the answer i think is to do with Harry’s ability to love.
Voldemort does not understand love and he could not touch Harry at the end of the first book, because he was protected by his mother’s sacrifice which was borne out of love for Harry.
This is the blood that Voldemort used to regenerate his body and come back from whatever he was after his first fall from power. He is able to touch Harry without feeling any pain. But now i think when Voldemort possessed Harry at the end of the order of the phoenix, his assumption that using Harry’s blood would make him invincible is in reality yet another one of Voldemort’s miscalculations.
When Harry opened up his heart about Sirius i believe that not only did Harry’s soul cause Voldemort to feel mortal agony, the blood he shares with Harry, was influenced by that surge of love Harry had. Which activated the latent protection Lilly Potter provided to protect Harry from Voldemort.
So in essence Harry can influence the blood that is circulating in Voldemort’s body to an extent that could possibly kill Lord Voldemort.

So the gleam of triumph might have been Dumbledore seeing another piece of the puzzle of how to finish Lord Voldemort off falling into place. Nothing sinister, just another weapon in Harry’s deadly arsenal of talents and gifts that will help him bring about Voldemort’s final downfall.

Now this method of loving Voldemort to death would only work under a few conditions:
1. Voldemort’s Horcruxes would first have to be destroyed
2. Harry would have to allow himself to be possessed by Voldemort or force his way into Voldemort’s mind.
3. Harry would have to hold Harry in this deadly embrace until one of them dies.

As to the question of Harry being a horcrux, i think this theory would most likely still work. In essence Harry would have to use his connection via the scar to enter Voldemort’s mind, and then with his ability to love kill the last two remaining pieces of Voldemort’s soul. Without killing himself in the process. But it could work.
However i did say this is probably a cheese cauldron worthy theory.
I’m probably not even barking up the right tree. But it all seems to fit into the grand scheme of things in relations to Dumbledore’s Gleam of triumph being the hinge on which the series is balanced on.