to be able to write again.
I want to let the words spill from every conceivable place.
but they don't. They won't. I ache to know why.
I have to be the kettle today. I have no handle. On any of it.
_____
Dear Diary. Mood: Apathetic.
_____
I just recently read(for the second time) and watched (for the first time) Nick & Norah's Infinite Playlist.
It made me miss New York, and I've never even been there.
The book is fantastic. I think I could read it and read it and read it and never tire of it.
The movie- was good too. Michael Cera(!!!) and Kat Dennings were the perfect Nick & Norah, but I didn't like what the writers/producers/directors/whoevers did to the screen play.
If they had translated the book to the screen exactly- It would have been creamed-honey-fan-fucking-tastic.
Oh well.
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'I shouldn't want the song to end. I always think of each night as a song. Or each moment as a song. But now I'm seeing we don't live in a sinle song. We move from song to song, from lyric to lyric, from chord to chord. There is no ending here. It's an infinite playlist.'
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Well, that's all folks.
All I have to offer. A wishy-washy non-excuse and some kind of film/book review.
Better luck next time eh?
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