I need to write something because I haven't blogged in a long while. So here goes. I'm just going to do an old fashioned update. 

I've been really fucking sick for the past four days. So sick that at times I actually wondered whether there are ways to will oneself to death. Sick enough to spend over 36 hours in bed without masturbating. I realized that one day I'm going to get a head cold and I'll probably just die because by then some mutant virus resilient to all immune system magic will prevail. The illness forced much thinking. Most of it was circular rotating back to wondering if enough pressure in the human skull can cause permanent brain damage. While I lay dying I came across a short story about a man, a prisoner in a nazi death camp charged with burying the corpse of a horse under the close surveillance of an SS Guard. As the prisoner/professor K. digs, he makes idle conversation with the SS Guard:

professor K: Holderlin ist ihnen unbekkant?
-who's that -asks the guard
-he's the guy that wrote "Hyperion" says professor K-"he's one of the greatest figures of German Romanticism". And what about Heine? Do you know him?-
-who are these people?" asks the guard
-authors. what about schiller? know him?
-yea i know him, says the guard
-and Rilke?
-him too.- says the guard, growing red in the face. and with that he shoots professor K, who collapses next to the corpse of the horse.

I called my mother, excited. I found a story I felt I could adapt into a short film. She disagrees. She thinks it's not a good time to make this kind of statement. That it isn't timely. It is outdated. And politically unwise.