Ryan Coogler In This Interview Describing Marvin Gaye's "I Want You." Sexy As Hell.

"I can't cry anymore, that you're not around..."

If Lewis Hamilton can get Lauryn Hill out of the house, to an event, ON TIME...

I have to believe he can fix Ferrari.

May 4, 2025

Daily writing is back. One: I can feel the gray clouds of void (shouts to The Thunderbolts*) rolling over the horizon which means your girl needs habits. Daily assignments that get me moving when my mind tells my body to retreat. Two: this also helps with cultivating gratitude because when I don't know what to write, "What are you grateful for?" is a solid prompt. Three: actively working with Human Design means doubling-down on what I love to align with my Strategy. Even when I don't know what to say, my body lights up over a keyboard with an empty screen. Authority doesn't get more sacral than that.

So, here I am. May the Fourth be with me or whatever.

I knew something was off yesterday when a friend canceling our plans to hang out at the art museum (mere hours before we were scheduled to meet up) sent me on a spiral. I was already planning my outfit. I was looking forward to catching up, seeing where she is in life, and if I'm honest, performing my personality a bit. I have Leo Rising with a Sun in the 3H – conversation is my stage du jour. Being robbed of the spotlight for an afternoon not only had me ready to rage but activated a "Hey. What if your perfect Solo lifestyle isn't so perfect after all? You wouldn't cling to plans to get attention if you didn't live alone" thought whirlpool. I won't tell you who that voice in my head sounds like because he is a politician, but let's just say he may or may not have had a dalliance with a couch.

Thankfully, The Thunderbolts* was showing at my neighborhood movie theater at the same time I would have gone to the museum. So I had something to get up and get dressed for. The movie not only hit (good for Marvel), but hit a little too hard. Then, my mother texting "Well, that sucked," in reaction to Miami Grand Prix Qualifying put a literal pit in my stomach on the drive home. And I had to concede that the Sunken Place was, indeed, calling because no way should a man I've never met driving too slow around a race track trigger that kind of physical reaction.

The outlook isn't great. Not alarming. But definitely giving "Meh. What's the point?"

I know from experience. There is no point. You put one foot in front of the other until a point finds you.

Step one: daily writing.