That vodka, beer, and regrets Bela.
When did I had my first awareness of Bela?
Many years ago, when I had a randomized choice which theater to hide after a weekend of discourse; in a movie whose title I can no longer recall.
She was cheek, was fun, emphatic, obliging some conviction or something, seducive, wild, mad, and too liberal of her laughters. She commanded the spell to play her character even in dramatizing her sad torment and confusion of urbane millennial life.
Since then, I can't recall burying myself in love movie stories unless the plot is widely criticized, commented, reviewed, and whenever the advertisement pops up countless of times that compels a quick trailer view to have at least a glimpse on what the portable community had been talking or laughing about.
Photo was lifted from the film Meet me at St. Gallen.
I chose this photo to magnify her image in this wall --not because I've loved her or was enchanted by her character. It just so happens that this is what I used to do in a coffeeshoppe too: laugh unpretentiously at false identification of consumers with artists names.
Her recent movie, where her story of youth and vigor were relinquished to "vodka, beer, and regrets" seemed to get the youths' chasm whose past times and better way of addressing personal issues and restlessness are drowned in toxicity.
I find this hard to affiliate empathy because while I'm certainly not ignorant of the beer's taste, its not a usual thing in the fridge; nor a nurtured personal culture to make beer as alternate to tea and water. Oh well, I had my time too to have counseled my curiosity after disproving in an exclusive all-girls socialization that a liter of vodka cannot dysfunctionalize the cerebrum, the frontal, parietal, and occipital lobes. It can weaken one's strength though. Being wasted is a sorry state.
The following day, you will never like the smell of isoprophyl alcohol, the astringent, and headache is an un-welcomed result. The vagueness of realization is as sorry as lost priorities and sense of direction.
So, while the movie excited many, the rest of the world on the other hand, closed borders, suspended flights, and contained patients against viral conflagration. Those who sunk wasted acted like the physician in Love In Time of Cholera. One may self medicate using potassium bromide to raise his spirits; salicylates to address the bones' aches; ergosterol drops for vertigo; and, when worse creeps, belladonna to beg for a sound sleep. Prescription of palliatives to bear one's own. All these Bela while the rest of the pharmacological institutions compete with time to produce medication for novel corona virus 2019.
Yes, Bela, its this context. Its that love and time.
Many years ago, when I had a randomized choice which theater to hide after a weekend of discourse; in a movie whose title I can no longer recall.
She was cheek, was fun, emphatic, obliging some conviction or something, seducive, wild, mad, and too liberal of her laughters. She commanded the spell to play her character even in dramatizing her sad torment and confusion of urbane millennial life.
Since then, I can't recall burying myself in love movie stories unless the plot is widely criticized, commented, reviewed, and whenever the advertisement pops up countless of times that compels a quick trailer view to have at least a glimpse on what the portable community had been talking or laughing about.
Photo was lifted from the film Meet me at St. Gallen.
I chose this photo to magnify her image in this wall --not because I've loved her or was enchanted by her character. It just so happens that this is what I used to do in a coffeeshoppe too: laugh unpretentiously at false identification of consumers with artists names.
Her recent movie, where her story of youth and vigor were relinquished to "vodka, beer, and regrets" seemed to get the youths' chasm whose past times and better way of addressing personal issues and restlessness are drowned in toxicity.
I find this hard to affiliate empathy because while I'm certainly not ignorant of the beer's taste, its not a usual thing in the fridge; nor a nurtured personal culture to make beer as alternate to tea and water. Oh well, I had my time too to have counseled my curiosity after disproving in an exclusive all-girls socialization that a liter of vodka cannot dysfunctionalize the cerebrum, the frontal, parietal, and occipital lobes. It can weaken one's strength though. Being wasted is a sorry state.
The following day, you will never like the smell of isoprophyl alcohol, the astringent, and headache is an un-welcomed result. The vagueness of realization is as sorry as lost priorities and sense of direction.
So, while the movie excited many, the rest of the world on the other hand, closed borders, suspended flights, and contained patients against viral conflagration. Those who sunk wasted acted like the physician in Love In Time of Cholera. One may self medicate using potassium bromide to raise his spirits; salicylates to address the bones' aches; ergosterol drops for vertigo; and, when worse creeps, belladonna to beg for a sound sleep. Prescription of palliatives to bear one's own. All these Bela while the rest of the pharmacological institutions compete with time to produce medication for novel corona virus 2019.
Yes, Bela, its this context. Its that love and time.
