the word of the week is abstinence. it's difficult. keeping clear of loved ones, lovers, luxuries, and lunacy, hopefully. after a long hike yesterday i came home to two-fruits for dinner, alain de botton for the bedtime lullaby, four extra pillows for comfort. in the name of what? weakness to be sure. kicking the habit of necessity.
after all is said and done however, the morning after goes thus: naughty french toast with butterscotch sauce. alone in the home for some hours before some pigeon wees on my shoulder, payback for the toast i think. i don't know what i ever did.
tom is tetchy/taut/transparent. all i hope for is to end up like alice, miraculously cured somehow of the need to devote. miraculously cured somehow of the lovesickness.
i'll begin the collectathon, little vials of sperm, little vials of insect. it'll prove worthy somehow.
let it all be as it should. for no longer i long for the unlikely. i haven't the strength for it any longer.