Dec 10, 2007 01:51
Scribbled fleetingly on napkins in an overly typical fashion in a coffee house at 6 in the morning are the words that surface when nothing else can be said. A sweet face peers to see what thoughts can be poured over dead trees. Something that can't be seen by passers-by because of selfish arms that cover in discretion. Doesn't stop that smiling face from attempting with good intentions. I've not felt so rude by denying something so petty.
Shifting from one uncomfortable position to the next, I attempt solace in sleep with no fruits of satisfaction. I told Em. I told her how I felt, where I stand, where I want to stand, and how impossible this situation is. Tonight is the first break in a series of inebriated wanderings. I'm still attempting an "account recover" for myself. Collect my thoughts. Spoon plays Everything hits at once, Flaming Lips play Ego Tripping At The Gates Of Hell, and Andrew Bird will keep me in check with a whistle and a solemn song. It helps, still, Me and the Bean wrap in sheets to a feverish frustration on a cold couch with no rest.
I will see Zaiyan on Tuesday and we'll talk about transhumanistic evolution and the generalities of the progressive mind, Hubris and Memento Mori. If two men could be more gay for each other they'd have to be on fire with our butts permanently linked via penis insertion. Basic stuff really.