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Pushing.
Saw stars and lights and shimmering Los Angeles from a dry mountainous cliff
monastary.
Saw Elaine and Marty at the Dresden Room. They are less energetic than the last time; however, the signature song has the requisite moog crazy zany all-elaine-ness. And you think: ah, they're going to die one day and none of this will exist.
Then you wonder why we go to war eh? I wonder this when I know that a baby is new and fresh and wants love. Ah, is it really these brain chemicals that make us murderers? And do we make these chemicals? Do emotions?
Ah yes, Griffith Observatory also reaffirmed that we are made of stars.
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