Mental experience in which you come to believe on numerous occasions that someone must have died a while back, often persisting for many years until you hear for certain in the media that they have just actually died.
I had necro-reiteration about Joan Miro and Evel Knievel for at least a decade before they popped their clogs.
by Fearman December 15, 2007
Derogatory term for someone who regards our fellow humans as more worthy of our care and attention than other forms of life, used by the kind of person who wants everyone to be eaten by lions on the Serengheti.
by Fearman August 28, 2007
Alternative genre of Harry Potter fandom featuring story lines in which the Dark Lord Voldemort turns out to be Harry's dad. Influenced by an obscure line of space adventure movies coming from southern California via Tunisia, Italy and Norway, inter alia.
Typical scene from the vaults of Darth Voldism:
Voldemort scanned the graveyard with his glaring red eyes, the snowy whiteness of his face twitching as he looked about for that annoying teenager. If only he could be made to understand, everything would be so simple ...,
He turned down a blind alley of tombstones backed with impenetrable briars, and there was Harry in front of him.
Harry swallowed hard and levelled his wand, but he did not unleash anything Voldemort's way, no doubt foolish and desperate enough to expect Voldemort to say something that might help Harry out of this impasse.
Yet Voldemort was not about to try any unwarranted aggression, and in fact when he spoke his voice was almost gentle.
"Why do you insist on running, Harry? Why don't you join me? You know it is futile to resist. Join me, and together we can rule the worlds of wizards and Muggles alike. There is nothing we cannot do ...,"
"I'll never join you", Harry said. "Never! Do you hear? I'm not like you at all."
"Ahh", said Voldemort, "but Albus never told you the truth, did he? About what really happened on that night fourteen years ago ...,"
"He told me enough. You're a mass murderer. You've slaughtered hundreds of wizards. You murdered my parents. You murdered my mother. You killed my father."
At that, Voldemort's face grew solemn and a little sad. Holding his wand aside, he spread his arms in greeting.
"No, Harry. I did not kill your father. I ... AM your father."
"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"
Voldemort scanned the graveyard with his glaring red eyes, the snowy whiteness of his face twitching as he looked about for that annoying teenager. If only he could be made to understand, everything would be so simple ...,
He turned down a blind alley of tombstones backed with impenetrable briars, and there was Harry in front of him.
Harry swallowed hard and levelled his wand, but he did not unleash anything Voldemort's way, no doubt foolish and desperate enough to expect Voldemort to say something that might help Harry out of this impasse.
Yet Voldemort was not about to try any unwarranted aggression, and in fact when he spoke his voice was almost gentle.
"Why do you insist on running, Harry? Why don't you join me? You know it is futile to resist. Join me, and together we can rule the worlds of wizards and Muggles alike. There is nothing we cannot do ...,"
"I'll never join you", Harry said. "Never! Do you hear? I'm not like you at all."
"Ahh", said Voldemort, "but Albus never told you the truth, did he? About what really happened on that night fourteen years ago ...,"
"He told me enough. You're a mass murderer. You've slaughtered hundreds of wizards. You murdered my parents. You murdered my mother. You killed my father."
At that, Voldemort's face grew solemn and a little sad. Holding his wand aside, he spread his arms in greeting.
"No, Harry. I did not kill your father. I ... AM your father."
"NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!"
by Fearman December 18, 2007
A dance that symbolises an entire way of life that was supposedly very intense, meaningful and sensual, and intrinsic to the human and natural worlds, but that was in fact never lived. The literal dance itself never existed, and those who pretend to knowledge of it cannot agree on what the moves were. More generally, a myth in the most amorphous state possible.
Jane spent her college years trying to find references to the acorn dance.
Everything is an acorn dance and nothing is.
Someone wrote a thesis on Renaissance painting and the acorn dance. It was rather sensual stuff and I still couldn't make head nor tail of it.
Everything is an acorn dance and nothing is.
Someone wrote a thesis on Renaissance painting and the acorn dance. It was rather sensual stuff and I still couldn't make head nor tail of it.
by Fearman April 13, 2008
by Fearman February 01, 2008
Any writer at the age of twenty. Their head is not together enough to write about anything, but they write just the same. Unfortunately some of them are taken too seriously. Was a lot worse in the 1920s, obviously enough.
by Fearman January 25, 2008
Middling quality thriller novelist who probably does his homework on the research end of things, is full of American jingoism, and avoids including sex scenes in his books because he thinks that makes them more respectable. Has had two middling good movies made of his work, The Hunt for Red October and The Sum of All Fears.
by Fearman May 26, 2008