no more eating, just wine in the afternoon, wine at night.
yesterday, after getting drunk on jug wine, i played guitar and hung out with gabe for a long time. skin. we rode bikes to fred meyer and i got yogurt and film. then we went to the baghdad and saw "the royal tennenbaums" and drank beer, and pretended we were on a date. he stretches nonchalantly, puts his arm around me, i laugh. the movie was good, especially the scene with the elliott smith song. after the movie we went to a bar near there and had some wine and smoked. gabe says i don't talk about how i feel enough. so i tried. we rode home drunk in the cold.
i sat on the porch for a long time with andy and nate, and had more wine. i played guitar. nate passed out on the couch and andy had to drag him inside. i slept downstairs. "this is not going to work."
whir. click. true. i keep trying to tell the truth, kept trying, to you, to him, in the words that were there. but my facts slip through the language like a glimpse of the lost tribe.