Alex, where did you get that scar?
Orson Welles movie marathons, and Jean-Pierre Melville on stock. My mind is temporarily put on ice, and there is much to be written. I see the same people during the week and my connection with them is that of someone from the outside looking in on everyone, and reading their expressions; wondering where ( if anywhere) I fit in there. Alex is only a temporary name for a character I’ve always felt a connection with. In many ways, and in all ways he’s completely opposite of me; and he not only has more courage than me, but he embodies everything I’ve ever found heroic in a single person. I’m not heroic. The only times I feel heroic are those momentary instances when I feel so in tuned with my surroundings, and my kind acts inspire such great confidence. But that sheet is shred to bits in time and once again I’m in a rut and contemplating the meaning of kindness, sometimes hopelessly feeling that I am very much alone. My weekends have been mediocre, I haven’t played much music and I have trouble sleeping ( I think because of acid reflex). My focus is on my work, which I have yet to start and yet to learn how to start. But there is inspiration.