I watched too many movies yesterday. And I've got a viewing today for my film course.
What I watched too late too early was the french film In Their Sleep which I hoped was a mother-son genius, but it turned out to be a psycho killer genius, here's comes a young man unloved. He kills people. Surprise! Oh, it's awful. Brilliant cinematography, though, what dying in the greenery. I'm trying, I swear! What the twist, young man unloved kills others, young woman unloved kills self, it's all a droning pain.
So I started in on a fourth film, again about young men, just to distract myself, but who can sleep at two in the AM? Who hits boys with a car? Who hears aidez-moi while mumbling? It's what makes me feel burning, that help me while mumbling, and hey where did the arms go? I was feeling safe over here! fickle made beauty made flesh...
I miss him whose always presence :( long sleeves make it so...even on me. I pull sleeves to his knuckles and I've done so for years. I can't sleep in the meantime. It's the thing about that one subject, and dealing with, passion, our specific nuance, reference, pretend to be a vulnerable boy for bedrest. He resents the idea of resenting ideas of.
We run in the mornings. Have I said that? What about Alan running circles around me? Friend of my heart. He picks wildflowers. I love my beta muse more than you love your boyfriend, oh tongue :P
Running is still exhausting torture. It's only managed as montage, with music and the void, and the lips of the void and his cowlicked hair and me thinking, I'm running for you wherever you are. Running is great marketing. It's struggle made fresh, quite stylized--, and so, cathartic.
I miss you, you love me? mi prami, mi prami