the BRUTAL, UGLY truth of my FABULOUS, BEAUTIFUL life.



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8:48 a.m. + 2004-07-31 = bypass surgery.

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i have been quiet. i have been unsound. there is nothing but the biggest pit of worry, melancholy and sick in my stomach. it's not for any one thing. it's not for anyone in particular. it just "is." det finns.

i lay in bed at 10pm watching episodes of south park that my magical foster child has recorded (the Time-Warner ripoff of Tevo)... and i missed him-whose-name-i-don't-mention-here. and it's silly, really. cos i was not mourning some happytime that had ever bothered to manifest... but rather, i lay there missing the way we almost-never were. [[read that again. wrap your heads around it.]]

then i awoke at 2am. and so gutwrenchingly missed brian that i stopped breathing for 30 seconds...gasped for breath...screamed into pillow[s].

it could've happened last night. it could've happened a week ago. it might even be both, last night and a week ago.

...or it happens much too often, more-than-i-care-to-admit often.

and i'm only writing this shit down because it's not coming out in song.... and maybe this is me --just trying to get this cholesterol out of my aorta.

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comments?? --->[thisaway]--->[[looks to me as though there are...]]---> 0 repercussions thus far

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[prologue] *** [epilogue] ***[plottwist!]

[[erstwhile]] ***** [[forthwith]]

reference desk

me
&
you
or
us
&
them
else...
immortality!



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