I’m spending my 29th birthday largely naked, scuttling around my house in a mask and underwear. After sweating through three shirts this morning, I gave up on clothes altogether. I am rewatching Beau is Afraid, which I first watched yesterday. I am rewinding the part where Joaquin Phoenix writhes pathetically on the floor, begging his mommy for forgiveness while Patti Lupone lists his many sins. I am watching it because it is art, and not because of any kind of underlying sexual pathology on my part.
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I’m spending my 29th birthday largely naked, scuttling around my house in a mask and underwear. After sweating through three shirts this morning, I gave up on clothes altogether. I am rewatching Beau is Afraid, which I first watched yesterday. I am rewinding the part where Joaquin Phoenix writhes pathetically on the floor, begging his mommy for forgiveness while Patti Lupone lists his many sins. I am watching it because it is art, and not because of any kind of underlying sexual pathology on my part.