It is a strange relationship indeed between love and death. People killing for love, killing the one they love, killing because they love. And then there is the love for the dying, the warm, desperate, white love that isn't enough to keep them here physically, but maybe can help them on their way.

A very young boy, Xander, has been dying for a few weeks now. I have never met him, never even spoken to his mother, yet I am filled with sadness, and love for this little spirit. I can but send them my well meaning thoughts. I'm sorry.

Sometimes people help you out in unexpected ways. I e-mailed a friend yesterday, asking for advice about something, and all of a sudden, while reading her reply, things fell into places in my head. I think I am moving into a silence, for a while, to stop the screaming, and maybe then I'll be able to go on speaking.

Trivial.

I am ridiculously happy that Edward Norton was nominated for an Academy Award as Best Actor for "American History X". I don't think the movie, nor him, got the noise it/he deserved.

Last friday, a man on my last bus home, apparently both drunk and otherwise drugged, spent half an hour, screaming through the entire bus that I was a really beautiful lady, and that he was going to marry me. I leaned against the seat in front of me to get a bit of space from him. He then leaned in, and managed to whisper "Will you promise to marry me?" I shuddered, and said in a gay voice "Sorry, I already promised someone else" (I wasn't lying, I'm marrying Robert DeNiro). He thought for a minute, leaned in again, and whispered "Well, I'm going to make you break that promise."