House of MinaLima

aaaIMG_8917_800x533.jpgYou – even if you’re not a proper Potter-head – surely have heard about London’s newest, Potter-related play (Harry Potter and the Cursed Child) and WB’s newest movie (Fantastic Beasts and where to find them). You may have also heard (you definitely have if you’re a Potter-head; chances are you’ve either been to both already or it is on your Bucket List) about WB studios for Harry Potter in London and Universal’s theme park for Potter’s world in California. But have you heard about this tiny magical place squeezed between average muggles’s buildings in the very centre of London (not far from the theatre where they play Cursed Child) called House of MinaLima?

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A scarf


She didn’t do it on purpose. It was neither a cunning scheme, nor a sophisticated plan to make people remember her. She never really meant to leave anything behind her. If anything, it must have been her elusive subconscious.

It seemed that this exact amount of alcohol – the one that already makes you do stupid things but not yet forget doing them the next morning – somehow always made her forget the cold, so that she usually realized she was without her scarf long after it was still worth (or safe) to come back for it without making an unnecessary fuss. Continue reading

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I closed the doors and breathed in heavily. The home-made wine combined with antibiotics was messing up with my concentration so I can’t say I was fully aware of what had just happened. At some levels I suspected what I had just done, but it hadn’t really come to me. At least not yet.

I turned off the light in the corridor and came back to my room, where on the desk stood the unfinished bottle of the damned wine, with two empty glasses next to it. Damned, because I knew I would finish it on my own now, regardless of the antibiotics. Just to soothe my nerves; maybe to help me fall asleep later on. Continue reading

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A scar


Whenever I decide to wear a short-sleeve shirt, my scar is perfectly visible. Actually, since it is right below my left elbow, it’s often enough to roll up the sleeve of a regular shirt to show it. And people usually do notice it easily. It’s huge, and it’s – not that I’m boasting – rather impressive: almost like some sort of a fancy symbol. A person imaginative enough would see something really amazing in it, like a decaying leaf or some tangled spider’s web. Continue reading

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A journey


As the train gathered speed, he suddenly remembered.

It came unexpectedly and paralyzed him, as if he had suddenly lost control over his own memories. The views outside the window were moving faster with every second, but he didn’t see them anymore. With eyes still fixed on the dirty pane, he sat frozen, half-consciously letting some old images flood his mind. Fascinating that it took only one little memory, carelessly let into consciousness, to cause the whole avalanche of forgotten details. Continue reading

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Nineteen Eighty-Four


Recently, I’ve re-read Nineteen Eighty-Four and… MY GOD, this is SO MUCH better in English.

First time I read it in Polish translation, almost three years ago. When I borrowed it from the local library, I knew nothing more about it than that it is a brilliant futuristic novel, written in 1949, set in 1984 and that my beloved Muse have just released the whole album based on it.

What Muse likes, me likes too – that was (and still is) the rule. Continue reading

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