You got it all - Sexy Sundays

I don't go around telling you what's right,
So don't come around telling me what's wrong,
[...]
It's all about the way you play this game
Can win or loose everything in a day
How do you cope with winning?
How do you cope with losing?
How do you cope with it all?

I don't care you you're a rastaman, a headbanger or a punkrocker,
We're all the same inside and out
And that is all why I want to be heard

Better Times - Beach House

I want you
To know the truth
Cause I been around before
Felt I was looking anymore

Been a fool for weeks
Cause my heart stands for nothing
And your soul's too weak
Got away
It's been around for days
Goes far if you want it
It needs to be kept
But then you
You come around
Big mistake

I don't want to know
I don't want to know
We don't need the side
To know
Better times

Running around cause you beat yourself up
And you made a crack
And the one that you love is gone
How much longer can you play with fire
Before you turn into a liar

I been around before
Thought you were looking anymore
But then we
We come and go
Go up in smoke

Thank you, Beyer, for helping to ease the pain

Phoebe knew plenty about physical misery because of the severe headaches that she'd dismissed as nothing back in her twenties but that she realized were migraines when they became regular and frequent in her thirties.
She was lucky enough to be able to sleep when she got one, but the moment she opened her eyes, the moment she was conscious there it was - the incredible ache on one side of her head, the pressure in her face and her jaw, and back of her eye socket a foot on her eyeball crushing it.
The migraines started with spirals of light, bright spots moving in a swirl in front of her eyes even whan she closed them, and then progressed to disorientation, dissiness, pain, nausea and vomiting.
"It's nothing like being in this world", she told him afterward. "There's nothing in my body but the pressure in my head". [...] For the twenty-four or forty-eight hours that the migraine lasted, she could not stand another presence in the darkened room, anymore than she could bear the thinnest sliver of light filtering in frm beneath the draawn shades. And no drugs helped. None of them worked for her. Once the migraine started, there was no stopping it."

in Everyman

by Phillip Roth

Moonlight Mile

O Filme: Hoffman and Sarandon are dazzling. I hate Grey. Jake's annoying.
A música: Extremamente agradável, lembra MGMT (seguindo um critério cronológico subjectivo).