As much as I hated to admit it, I kind of looked forward to seeing him. It made no sense, but something about his infuriating nature made me forget about my other worries. Weirdly, I felt like I could relax around him.
I weirdly do consider myself an optimist about love.
Weirdly, I'm not a horror fan.
Thinking you're immortal is weirdly similar to being immortal.
The writing process for a short story feels more like field geology, where you keep turning the thing over and over, noting its qualities in detail, hammering at it, putting it near flame, pouring different acids on it, and then finally you figure out what it is, or you just give up and mount it on a ring and have an awkward chunky piece of jewelry that seems weirdly dominating but that you for some reason like. I could be wrong about field geology here.
Things get very distorted when you do a movie, weirdly so.
Weirdly also listening to a lot of Aphex Twin again, I loved Syro.