Feel better, friend.

“Look at your body, battered by the lack of love and trust. Don’t you see it deserves a little care from you? Don’t reject this injured body which has supported you so long, never complaining. Tell it that it’s important, that it has its place. Give it what it deserves.” (“Regarde ton corps meurtri par le manque d’amour, de confiance. Tu ne vois pas qu’il merite qu’on s’occupe un peu de lui? Alors ne le rejete pas se corps blessé qui t’as supporté depuis si longtemps sans jamais se plaindre… Dis-lui qu’il a son importance, qu’il a sa place. Donne-lui ce qu’il mérite.”) Hey mom, I like the strands of hair that stick out from my chin.  Ugly as they may be, I like it. 

Haunting. Fuck that last scene. Fuck Explosions in the Sky. Fuck that closeup on the Dying Girl. Fuck her tears. Fuck my tears. This literally prevented me from sleeping. Why you gotta do that man. Why you gotta make such a film. I guess, I loved it. It made me laugh. "We had to breathe the weird marijuana air" Earl's analysis of Greg's personality sounded spot on too. Earl was a pretty great friend too. Earl was pretty nice stepping in like that, protecting his friend. Those popsicles looked nice. They looked cheap, but sweet, so you know I'm gonna like that shit. Hmm. Coming of age. A coming of age film. When was the 'coming of age' time of my life? When did I film the film that told the story of my coming, of... age...? Film of life, specifically my life, specifically the coming... of... my age? I guess, 20 would be the obvious answer. or maybe, 15? 14? I would say the defining factor would probably be.. finding out...

I am afraid that one day I would wake up having forgotten about who I am right now. On this very day, the 16th of November, this memory - so small, so... seemingly insignificant... I sit here on the edge of my chair, the sun calling out for attention behind the pensive clouds. Whatever he can get through spreads itself across my table. I hear the whir of this engine, this device that keeps me occupied. My fingers, they dance and scream in this silence. Ever so often I hear the sound of cars and bikes race down the street from across my house. These sounds they, leave me as soon as they reach. I hear the tick-tock of the clock to my left, never ceasing until it does. I feel the sweat as it builds on my back, and numbness of my feet due to the crossing of my legs. And in this moment, I feel... completely different. I feel the quiet of the moment, until it is broken. But it always comes back. The birds caw, but these sounds they drown in the oceans of my thoughts... My mind ...

Who am I kidding? Certainly not myself. I, who was born in privilege, of privilege, with privilege, AM privileged. So to waste this privilege would be an affront.... to me. To this person I have created. Wouldn't it? I'm not sure... Let me dive deeper into these thoughts of mine, as I stick this silver spoon into my face tasting FUCKING COLOURS, while you struggle to find drink. What can I do for you? You, who are aliens to me. Who I do not understand, and will never fully understand. To try, would that be sufficient? If I partake in waste, would you hold it against me? I would. Let me succeed please, but know that if I do, there's nothing I can do for all of you. Maybe one or two, but not all of you. Maybe three or four, but not all of you. Label me a hypocrite, for that it what I am.

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.  From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.  One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.  I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose.  I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide,  the figs began to wrinkle and go black, a...

No, not un-effable, not 'not able to be fucked'.  Ineffable.  As in,  life,  beyond words, beyond description, completely and utterly inexpressible.  But,  ineffable isn't ineffable,  so we use it when we are at a lost for all words, but one.