Lately I've been sipping on my travel memories. It's a sweet refreshment that takes away the bitterness of regret. Today it's the Egon Schiele exhibit I saw in Venice. (see sexy pic).Whenever mr russo beardo pops into head, I will remember the world I've seen, and forged, all on my own. Paris, Tokyo, Venice, Berlin, Rome, London... I am rich. I am blessed. I like Egon Schiele. I like going to galleries.
It's only 5pm and it's almost black outside. Must be a storm coming. My thought clouds are also overcast. They always seem to be closer to the head in stormy weather. It's hot chocolate and soup weather. Lovely rusty Autumn. Fall, as the yanks call it. I like Fall because it suggests the opposite movement to its atonym Spring.
Today is opening of London Film Festival. Loads of promising films on the menu. Terry Gilliam, Lars von Trier the nihilistic Dane takes on US opus, zombie flick, Nick Cave's debut, the required existential French fare. All good.
Got my red cowboy boots back. Single life is looking great in London town.
Red cowboy boot heel flick three times. Must not think of home. Must not think of home. Must not think of home.
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