Let the record show that I have just performed the era's most magnificent hair cut upon my self. To support this claim I invoke to only test that matters: It makes a wonderful ponytail.

Today I told my professor that I was going to come to class with a discussion prepared, along with a trifold board and a model of a volcano. I drooled out the word "helicopterytactile" and bragged about how I would wear a penguin's hide by sorcery if in doing so I could gain its powers. He said that our friend was a green horse descended of the genus paisley equus. I said that I was going to bring a real dinosaur to class. I was showing off big time.

There is no danger of him ever reading this, unless he's specially motivated, so I'll say this. I can't decide whether I love him or idolize him, or if it's the same thing. Do not scoff; my heart will not be deterred by cliché.

Isn't it always the thing that when I hit rock bottom, suddenly I want to tamper with the world one joke at a time. At every jugular squirt of nonsense emitted, I feel an increase in my measly human power, if only for a moment. The place where we laugh is an untouchable realm, pleased at our dramas, sharpened by pain, made rebellious by boredom. It's a form of warfare.

2007-04-18, 1:38 a.m.

Pre., Nex.

Dia., Gue., Arc.