-I do not like Steel Reserve "beer". Not at all. Sarah and I decided it tasted like urine, like ass, like steel, metallic, like someone didn't wipe their ass. We threw it in a steel dumpster. Hey, if it wasn't steel, it was at least metal.
-Cold air can be fucking wonderful in little doses. Walking out of Adaptation through the parking lot to Sarah's car, the air felt eek gods wild. I was hyper-aware of my body's existence within this space, was made hyper-aware by the chilliness. This is why cold weather inspires romantic sentiments. A feeling similar to swimming, crisp movements through the air, crisp strokes through the water. A body and elements. Me and my good friend, nature, and a declaration of where the boundaries are that seperate you and I.
-There was a period of time in my life when I claimed to not like the Rolling Stones. There was a period of time in my life when I was just plain stupid. The Rolling Stones are so fucking awesome. I yanked their 40 Licks collection from Starbucks and yowser yowser yowser, I love everyone of these songs.
-I love burritos. LOVE. I cajoled Sarah into going to Chipotle tonight because I am in love with those huge burrito bars and have not been to one in the longest time. Since Madison? And I fucking sat in this booth with a water cup filled with coke, and with sauce dripping down my hands arms cheeks - and a mood ring, my mood ring that I bought at the dollar store, sitting on the table, changing colors because this mood ring is a moody little thing - and I moaned with fucking more delight than I have in the longest time, because I was eating a burrito that actually was as big as my fucking head and guacamole was spilling out of it, gushing into my mouth with free range pork and rice and beans and yum yum yumminess and fucking it was good, so damn good. And food is like that, it can feel so right sometimes.
-This is masturbation. I am a solipsistic hack. These are my thoughts after watchingAdaptation which was at times fucking so amazing, and at times, toward the end, a little tiring. No voiceovers was a command at some point in the movie. No voiceovers. And I don't think I would be able to do that. Over break, bored and dreaming, I have been trying to map out a work of fiction to undertake bringing into existence, but all my ideas are all of the semi-autobiographical sort, all voiceovers, which lots of writers do, but I am torn, confused. But even more so right now, I am hungry and tired, so I must go to bed.
-And Mick is so sincere sounding when he asks, "Angie, ain't it good to be alive?" And I am on that wavelength. Anyway who listens to the song and gets to that part is going to be on that wavelength, hypnotized with those secret wavelengths the Stones are sending out to us, and we'll be thinking, knowing that it is, it is fucking good to be alive.
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