"I hate going to sleep. Sleep feels like death."
Being a night person, and a night person with insomnia. This is the time when one might naturally go to sleep if nothing is done about it. And slowly moving up the going to bed time until you resemble normalcy. Until something happens, which draws you out and you slip.
He talks about film (in the context of the German female whore and in the context of the male self). How film comes out of the creator and never returns. So different than theater where it is from and to the performer every time. Different than art which lives and breathe through the artist.
And corporations. What we cede. What we bargain. How they've changed how we view and value art.
And Peter Falk's backup glass eye.
We are at the midway point. Twelve hours of twenty-four.
This break's snack was marshmallows and hot cocoa. And oranges. I forgot that the last break's snack was bacon. And oranges.
At the next break, Sweet Pea Bakery will have some breakfast snacks available for purchase.
I, too, am a night person. Who battles insomnia at times. Though I'm doing better, but I go down that slope easily - like with the final push to finish the draft of the memoir. Which is on it's way to Ariel.
Twelve hours of Daisey's monologue; 314 pages of my memoir.
Life is good.
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