Friday the 14th - The Gathering/The Nes-Quikening

I saw Robin Hood last night.

I liked it. It was fun, and historically compatible. It was heavy on the plot (sometimes confusingly so) and the very good actors they had in it were some times not allowed to do much more than run around and look willowy (billowy?) and oppressed. I'm thinking of Ms Blanchet. She did well with what she had, and there was some pretty interesting close up shots showing her as ruddy cheeked and suffering for everyone.

I went with friends who thought it was fine to talk and make noise all the way through it. Murderous rage nearly covers how I felt towards my friends afterwards. I was angry. More angry than I should have been. Who knows why really? Missed opportunities has a lot to do with it. I enjoyed it until I didn't and I attribute that solely to them.

So fuck you friends. I'm never doing that again.

I had brunch at the Central Market with a friend. We sat and talked about little things. Important things, but little in the context of the relationship. Some times when you're talking to someone you know well, its almost like you have your bread and butter conversations, and then there is everything else. With this particular person, talking about anything other than people is almost always going to be a complete shortfall. Its not that its impossible, but it just doesn't flow or have any real meaning. It becomes an exercise in altered breathing patterns when I talk that way. Nothing is accomplished, nothing is gained or lost. So inevitably we turn to talk of people we know. There is something entirely satisfying and entirely boring about this. Its fine if I'm able to extrapolate some larger truth about people or things, but this doesn't always happen and then it becomes meaningless. My father, in his limited wisdom, once told me that small minds talks about people, big minds talk about ideas.

Well thats some fucking bullshit if ever I heard it. Its almost a perfect paradox. To say that and believe it you would have to have a small and pretty limited mind. Hence my father's involvement. People are ideas. End of story.

We sat on the grass in Victoria Square after eating. I have to admit I never do this. Sitting on grass is kind of strange. It smells grassy. You get an imprint on your hands. I'm always distracted by it and can never devote all my energy to the idea or thoughts at hand because I'm equally aware of the fact that I'm sitting on the grass.

Woke up, fell out of bed
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my downstairs and drank a cup
And looking up I noticed I was late

I'd love to turn you on.