12.17.2011 There were a lot of weddings on November 11th this year.
I feel as though everything is on battery life. Like eventually this page'll run out, the pen's ink, my mind with thoughts. The sweat of desperation. That's what they call "writer's block", right? John bought me a little white bag for breakfast. It was particularly full of taste and texture and then meaning. He bought himself a malt beer in a bright orange can And for one fucking second I thought he wouldn't drink it. I related my dad to "By the way" Bill, how he could come back for a while after living in a shopping cart and be okay.
My memory is leaving me more and more. I forget things I've just said. The feeling of recognition is less great, remembrance more few. I blamed it this morning on wine. I don't think it's true.
posted by Tazarat @ 4:04 PM