drunkencynic's Diaryland Diary


cellophane shoulda been my name...

Well. Well well well. No. :)

Elena and I went and saw The Italian Job yesterday. It made me euphoric. I don't know why, escape maybe. There's something wonderful in the way a loud, shifty movie allows such an escape. If I were to think about it, perhaps I wouldn't think of it as the best movie of the year, but I adored it. :) When a movie sticks in my head, I always like to look it up online and see what the critics thought. Consensus on this one is that it was a mindless, formula-following, yet exhilarating summer escapeism movie. And (my note) the soundtrack kicks fucking ass.

I am still shattered. I still feel empty. Should I try and fill myself up? (Note to self: go easy on the Russian Water).

I feel left in the dust. I feel invisible, I feel see-through, I feel plain and dull. I feel like the world is ignoring me completely. The world is not dumping on me, it's just forgotten me. Do I still exist? I'm dying for someone to just reach out and touch me. From anywhere, from cyberspace, from the real world, from a book... nothing touches me anymore. I am implacable. The only thing that gets through is a loud, rockin' car chase.

Why do I still care, why do I still want to touch him when I know he's not who I think he is?

9:41 a.m. - 2003-06-01


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