So many ways in and out of any given situation. Who would have known that the thing that makes you feel better is apologizing or just talking or listening or whatever? How can you reliably imagine that you'd feel better by letting yourself be open to the possibility of catastrophe. I am always open to catastrophe, we all are. All the time. Maybe let's just make it a practice of admitting it more often. Thursday night was good. Sentimental-slash-emotional.
Friday night Ptrik and I went to Roy's going-away party. I was supposed to go to not one but like three parties that night. We ended up staying on Roy's roof for a number of good and not so good reasons. Which may or may not have involved drunken arguments with people who may or may not have been claiming that I was trying to kill them. I'm not joking. Then after convincing said people that in fact I was not trying to kill them, not really, then the cops came. I wanted to be gracious and not leave the premises until the cops had driven away. So Ptrick and I ended up actually making our little escape just before 4 in the morning. We went to Metropolitan where I insisted (valiantly, I thought) on the permanence of affection feelings. You used to / you still do. Some things do not change. This is okay.
Saturday Tommy and Bobo and I hung out in the am on the roof, ate Mexican food and went to go see that movie Moon. It freaked me out a little. What, I ask you, is the point of having a clone if you don't even make out with it? I mean, spoiler alert: there are clones. Saturday night was ok. Saw the girls at the bar. Becomes sunday, burns and sunscreen more girls and more bars. Everything's kind of blurring into a patina of shared meaning.
I am a punk and I am a socialist. I mean, I believe in community. But I also have a stronger belief in a kind of psychic poverty that prevents me from sharing.
Don't know what to think.