Stars twinkle as air bends their light

Went to Block with the boy last night, saw Weekend. I don't get cinema, Vicki. It is too multi-tasking for me. It is an appeal to all my senses, and it is simply too much. They don't give you a chance to understand. To breathe. Also, films are killing painting. Why doesn't anyone want to talk about painting around here? And this is what I yelled when Dan tried to explain the movie too me---genres actors directors blah blah blah: "Painting is dead, and all you film buffs have killed it!" And then I took off running, as fast I could, down the block away from him.

And why did we jump into all these new art forms when we still haven't solved the problems of art's most basic media. Painting wasn't done!

Paintings sit quietly in a room with you. (Like books). (Like poetry).

Later in the night, took a shower in the rain, bending over so the water could run on my neck. This morning, overslept. The boy went off the Belmont; I called and met him there as I wanted to go shopping for his birthday. Found: a light blue cardigan, a dark blue vneck sweater, and a nice plaid blazer. For myself, tried on two vintage Italian A-line skirts, but I was too short for them.

Now, to Astronomy, the stars.