Coffee, and the acceptance of one's psychology

I already miss the 3-ring circus of the rain.

There’s no reason though to be unhappy. All you need is your own original mind and use it so you can see what rightfully belongs to you and what doesn’t.

I often see people now as art, individual works of art, art pieces of true originality, therefore beautiful. I fear they walk around not knowing how beautiful they are, how original they could be. This seems to be the way I’m seeing people now, each a work of art

Can one’s character invade a face? I’m thinking of Auden near the end of his life

I had the pleasure the other night of watching one of Godard’s later movies, Goodbye to Language (2014). I haven’t had so much fun watching a movie since I saw The Bank Dick (1940) starring W.C. Fields. If I was correct in my assessment of Godard’s film—and a think I was—his dog was the narrator of the film, never having to speak a word.

This I do know: you can’t be what you’re not. You can try—I certainly have—but this kind of trying isn’t who you are. Who I am is in my heart and in my head, that’s all there is to it, though I have no idea that what I’ve just written means anything other than to me..

I’m thinking now of my father, not long before he disappeared. I was 16, he was 52. At that time very near the end of his life, he didn’t know what to say to me and I didn’t know what to say to him. All these years later I know now that he meant to say nothing, that saying nothing was his intention.