"Notre Musique" still burns in my mind. Was Olga the journalist? If not, what happened ot the journalist? Oh film.

Reading Jerzy Grotowski implies the concept of an actor being rather like an athlete. How true. One must also play the horribly sterotypical idiotic "jock" and think instinctivly with their unconsious rather than the perscription that society donates. J'espere que (I am sorry French language, I never do justice to you, as you can see) more individuals would treat their art with the respect that it needs including the technique and hardwork. One cannot simply be a "poet" or a "dancer" without the technique and thought. One must commit to the process rather than reveling in the glory that cannot be achieved without the focus during the process. Perhaps this is why I fail in visual art. Relying on inspiration is enlightening but passion and technique must remain and drive your artistry. Studying poetry and continuing to examine theater have influenced this new thought. A thought that I wish I would have realized prior to seventeen.

It is best when I have an objective and motivation. Rather than dancing around listening to mosh of Panic!, FOB and Paul Simon whilst dabbling in books from my "library." Yet I do have an objective. I simply need to collect my soul and rehearse. I hope "this" works. "I hope"...too much.

That smell.
That ambiance.
The humililty.
Humbled.
Thank you.

First time since September (early October rather). A Void. A sadness. I am a fragment
without that love. Class starts tommorrow at HASS and MHS.
Thank you. Grateful for this experience, for this city, for these tears.

The world should be shiny and albino. Calico left-over fall is not January.