Apology. End of a genius

<Elliot: Of course I'm holding back, I'm insane you idiot. Remember the other day when you told me I had pit-stains, well I have cried every fifteen minutes on the half-hour since you told me that. I am racked with self-doubt, I have panic attacks, I'm claustrophobic, germ-phobic, phobia-phobic. I talk to myself, I talk to my cats, I talk to three separate shrinks about the fact that often my cats respond to me in my mother's voice and, yesterday, when that stupid, pretty surgical nurse handed you a pair of latex gloves I almost killed the guy who's leg I was stitching up because I couldn't stop thinking about the two of you having sex on a box of steaks. Why a box of steaks? 'Cos my Dad had an affair with a female butcher and, as I mentioned before, I am insane. There, I opened up, are you happy?>>

Do you usually watch Scrubs? Scrubs is making me worry. First of all, I listen to its soundtrack, because it reminds me of some scenes. Even if every song is very far from being appreciated by me. Trash pop and indie rock, for the most part. I'm following Doc. Fox's model for my non-teen ager-future-life. He's sarcastic, ironic, irreverent. All great characteristics. I don't watch tv, because it's boring and I hate boredom, though I'm learning to live with it, lately. Boredom makes me feel bad, my body rebels to it. But Scrubs is something different. Besides, for some reasons, it makes me think of Lord. He who is. Woody Allen. I would like to ask him some brief questions:
1) Why did you disappoint your disciple, who was waiting for your new movie, that way?
2) What were you thinking about when you chose such a horrible cast?
3) Why did you get older? Is Annie Halls still alive, some where, in your memories?

Melinda&Melinda was so disappointing. There were only a few nice gags.
Invasion of indie rockers, then Andy Warhol's exhibition, that was terrible. I mean, those pics were a shapless huddle. Mr. multimillionaire manager of the gallery made a job that, probably, a 3 years old drugged child would have done in a more coherent way. Works were excellent, but the way they were positioned...gave me hallucinations and headache. At least my dressing was right for the situation. Everything was so fuchsia, just like my skirt and stockings. Well, I must say that at the end, I was so emotioned that I started raving, comparing Mr Allen to Warhol with these words: "Andy is Woody's artistic personification, without any doubt". Then, inner monologues and obsessive polemics fought in my brain, until the collapse of it and everything became a beautiful memory. Just like now. Associating all the things I like, until I create a collage, isn't ok. Let's be honest. But I do it, to make everything easier. I could say I figure out Charlie Brown with a pair of squared glasses, taking a picture of Marilyn Monroe, shouting to the wind: "You know, the only way you could be more useless right now is if you actually were the wall". Listening to some Siouxsie and The Banshees's music.

Happy new year.