  Inspiring. I just finished watching The Hours and Im struck dumb. Not in a totally transformative way. But a spark of foresight into how this excursion into the mind of Virginia Woolf is going to affect me. I feel a kinship. I find relief in her madness, her sense of herself, the longings kept out of reach.
Three lesbian kisses. God bless the film industry. Im satiated for now. I spent the entire duration of the film working out. Feeling that affirmation being connected to my body, of experiencing my self while my mind is carried by the imagination of another. I feel less like writing and more like listening. I see my reflection in the open window, looking out into the twinkling distance, to the atmospheric disturbance in the night sky.
My face holds a pensive expression. Clear forehead free of the burdens of the world. I am self-contained, cool, sangfroid. Ive seen my reflection in this film, in this writer. Her madness, her genius. I take it back; I do feel transcendent tonight. Stepping outside of my world yet stepping right into the meat of it. Centered and yet held above it all. A passive-exulted centeredness. I will sink back into the comfort of others voices. Tonight I will read, listen to the words. Revel in the singular immediacy of the writers vision. 
