Matter.

I don’t see the point of any of this because my love is dry. Everything seems fake. This entire existence. The drywall in front of me. The arms I control. The noise down the street. I don’t write scripts because I’m waiting for my friend’s laptop. That’s an excuse. I heard a loud almost train-like horn go off in the distance, and for a moment I imagined a horrible crash outside, down the street. That’s real. Sadness and anguish, and helping and supporting. I haven’t been running every other night, partly the holidays and partly I had things I had to get done. I think it’s affecting my mood. I’ve been pretty joyous the last 2 weeks. I thought it was cutting off my beard, getting rid of my man version of cosmetics. I think it was the running. Life (not the living-of, just the fact that things live) is perplexing/beautiful & wonderful. I still don’t feel very good about “The Fountain”. The more I try to understand it, the more I kind of sour to it. I like parts of it’s message. I don’t think it’s very easy to marry the whole thing to my Christ-centered perspective. Maybe that’s why I can’t figure it out.

Amazing ending.