felt interesting for a while then. not now, though. entries which seemed good and true now seem inconsequential. of course.

this has nothing, and i-couldn't-mean-it-anymore nothing, to do with my saying goodbye to nakedpride. she linked me before anyone else, but no longer. thought about leaving a note, but worry it will make me a bad person. go and read it, she is, as ms.Snailpetal put it, 'tortured in her own mind'.

if i could just cry everything out i might feel better. right now it's just pointless warmth and i think my face is too red.

Shakira's world tour is called 'Tour de la mangosta'; the tour of the mongoose. she paints with fried eggs, she dances with horses and is possibly the only South American diva to like Patti Smith. but do i *really* want to go that much?

thought i had a heart attack last night, woke up clutching. probably just random subconscious bubblings - (likely cuplrits : extract from the new Donna Tart - the myserious death of a child - and 'Daddy' and his erotic asphixiation machine from the League of Gentlemen) felt almost like i couldn't breath for a little while, though, and couldn't shout. thought that if i had gone then no-one would have known till i was found dead in the morning. vowed never to eat eggs again and promptly fell asleep.

is no-one actually a proper noun. an ever-absent everyman, who knows precisely what the rest don't?

no he's not. don't be so fucking fatuous.