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2002-05-17 - 6:07 p.m.

As a cunning measure to cover up my own woeful inadequacies, I like to surround myself with sickeningly talented people. Last night, Lara�s artistic outpourings proved that she knocks the work of most her peers into a cocked hat, whilst the rest of our little crowd seemingly effortlessly excel at, oh, just writing, art, photography, intellectual debate, film and, for all I know, juggling chainsaws and breeding cattle. And they still find time to look super-hott. I, on the other hand, stuck to drinking strong Japanese beer that I can ill afford like it was going out of fashion and rendering myself an irritating, babbling moron (not such a drastic transformation, as well you know) within the space of about 45 minutes. But anyway, everyone else is quite brilliant in an impressively unassuming kind of way. Actually, several kinds of ways. I mean, I can turn out the odd goofy phrase here and there, and maybe stretch to cringe-inducing corny song lyrics at a push, but multi-talented I ain�t. I�m just lucky enough to be allowed to hang out with people that are, and if I get mistaken for someone with half a brain in the process, then that�s hardly my fault, now is it?

And I resolutely deny that I am the British guy going round telling people that I�m Moby and getting them to sleep with him (see guestbook), though thanks, Redapple, for a great new idea. It�s so crazy it�might�just �WORK!

I have no job, no commissions and no money. There�s nothing coming in and lots going out, and it would appear that I�m pretty bad at what I�ve somehow ended up �doing�. I should be depressed, but in fact I don�t feel that much discontent. It�s like being given a blank slate. Yeah. And hey, if nothing else, then a blindly optimistic refusal to stare facts in the face will always see me through.

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