I ran 17 miles today. (Up above is my nutrition coach and my masseuse.) The 17 were OK, the last 2 a bit shouty in the legwarmer. I have had some really solid workouts this week. I can tell I am shaping in, my body tightening like an English poet. I watched two documentary films while I ran.
I came away thinking:
1.) Looks like Kurt did kill himself.
2.) Do not do hard drugs. The most fascinating thing in this film were the interviews with Kurt’s pals, other bands, sycophants who did/did not do drugs with Kurt and Courtney. Seeing them damn near put me off my feed. Pale, ghostly, waxy looking people. One had abscesses on his head and was clearly blitzed as he argued there was no need to quit heroin. One was 35 years old and I swear to gods he looked 50-60. (He was killed by a train soon after his interview).
3.) Yes, Courtney came across as bitchy, Machiavellian, fake at times, etc., but you know what? Who gives a damn? I think this film was a bit of a hatchet job. If it was a guy in Hollywood or the music biz, no one would say a thing. She’s always been Courtney. Does not make her a murderer.
I then watched a short science film about tectonic plates. Then one about downhill skiing.
This is one of my brothers and he once shot me. I did not press charges but now he clearly owes me one, which is nice.
His name is Stan.
I just re-edited, expanded a micro-fiction collection. This is stupid. I already sent the short MSS out to one place. But I can’t stop. And I like the expanded works better anyway. It’s a mess but a mess I like playing in. It is intellectually fun to nudge, grow, flex the works. It is like I am growing a plant. Or raising gerbils I then dress in tiny costumes and take on the road to perform various forms of mathematical feats and leaps and loops of skill on unicycles. Etc.
I hate February. I am officially depressed. I feel like a roof, the underside. This month is 4 months old.