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The Heights

Context I experienced 2 movies today

  1. Inside, Bo Burnham’s pandemic special

  2. In The Heights, a remake of Lin Manuel Miranda’s first broadway hit

I mostly listened to Inside while driving across Virginia. I saw In The Heights at a theater in Roanoke, near where I’m currently typing.

Inside was a sad display of a comedian I once saw during my freshman year at engineering school, specifically what happens to a performer whose foundation is built on shallow jokes. It was pain. More painful than WordPress bombarding me with this awful thing in the text editor:

In The Heights was fairy-tale happiness; leaving me with a fraction of Bo’s loneliness at the immensity of Latino community in contrast to the WASP hives which I am constantly attempting escape.

For the record, I saw In The Heights on Broadway, but was too miserable to enjoy it.

In The Heights made me cry and laugh several times, which was weird since the one other person at the 9:45 PM showing made no noise at all.

Inside was cringe after cringe.


I’m rather tired. Many feelings stewing in my thoughts. Erased blackboards caked with dusty chalk. Can’t say I’m wired. Sleep is tempting, a bath awaits me. The room’s cooling, the sound of typing sedates me. Perhaps the majority of my work won’t hit audiences who can only relate to their selfishness and greed; their need to escape daily deceptions – escapes into moments of relaxations. Heroin for the eyes, cocaine for the ears, novocaine and painlessness dress wounds with make-believe vests. Stop the bullets, the burning, the yearning, — give me satisfaction in 2 hours time, more is too long, and less isn’t worth my time… – …said you, in your mind. There are longer shows you know. Opuses of operas.

Coordinated symphonies, Bo – you gotta booboo, and ultimately, your display is phony. But it sells. Because so many souls pour themselves down drains searching for ways to remove the pain. If you are one of these many, take this sentence like a cent flipped penny – learn some zen buddhism. In my path, I haven’t yet removed fish from my diet – perhaps I’m rationalizing that I need the flavor and the protein punch, slamming sushi and poke bowls for lunch. But, alas, that’s where I am.. I eat less suffering, or so I suppose – how can I say a plant shouldn’t be allowed to grow so I can? And is there something bigger eating me? Or is writing the sustenance I provide? The songs I write with my band by my side. There’s no such thing as joy without pain. Darkness only exists because light reflects stains. It’s contrast. Both the movies I experienced today addressed the helplessness of people in the face of restlessness. A desire to do more, grinding chores – but hunger cannot be out-fed. I’ve dedicated my life to protesting viscous leaders, aka ‘foul representation’, alongside the realization that most people want to live healthful lives, and wish the best for others – unless they succumb to a hunger. I’ve dedicated my life to ideas. I am an idea comprised of many ideas. Good ideas go a long way, they’ve progressed the ‘humanity being’ to where we stand today. If you believe the shit major media pumps down your throat, that our world sucks as much as wind blows – then you need some contrast to color that hallucination you manifest, a little bit of historical study sheds light on the best – I attest. But who has the time to read history?

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