I haven't written anything since my portfolio and I kind of hope it shows. I feel the way you'd feel not having used your legs for a couple months. When I haven't eaten, haven't slept, everyone around me can tell. I'm mean. But who can see through to that other kind of hunger, when I myself don't even know when I'm starved? (Originally "when I don't even know myself when I'm starved," but I knew the double entendre would be lost. I love language even when I have to love it quietly. God.) 

I don't know what everyone's smoking- Elizabethtown is a good movie. "In that moment I knew, success, not greatness, was the only god the entire world served." I wonder about all the great interior monologue going on right now, a silent symphony of wit. Thoughts are diluted when spoken, I'm convinced. Can't the tops of people's heads be clear? Can't I float around reading thoughts in their natural habitat? Talk about poetry. It's not about intelligence either. "We got stars, though," said the small town man about his small town. Probably one of the most beautiful lines in the movie, and it had a lot. And there were maybe 4 seconds of this song in it, it was a pretty 4 seconds, I had to look it up. There are only 3 lines in the entire song, it's a pretty 3 lines. It looked me up. io (This Time Around) - Helen Stellar.

I'm walking around Rodeo Drive. Inside Chanel, a woman can't decide between two identical pairs of shoes, the difference only in the stitching, so her man-friend says, "Take both." She does. $800, each. Minutes later I'm in Dior flirting with this ring (purses never did much for me), fighting the urge to buy myself a birthday gift, and I realize, if you put my desire and the shoe woman's side by side, are they not identical? The difference only in the stitching? Should she be judged because [her man-friend] has the resources to act on the desire that is also mine, and yours, and ours? Of course it's okay to have nice things.

But we got stars, though.