14 November 2001

What a stunningly beautiful day. I rode my bike to school, wearing short sleeves, marveling at how dusky it was at four o'clock, but alternately amazed at how comfortable it was. (This sentence doesn't sound grammatically correct to me, but Cindy tells me it is, and she is one of the Writing Center's best and brightest.)
I've had a good day; hopefully the weird string of bad Wednesdays has gone by the boards. My energy is up, as are my spirits. I had a cappucino. Yuppie!

Song of the moment: "When the Tigers Broke Free" by Roger Waters. This song is so amazing! It sends such chills coursing through me, and inspires me to no end. There is a male voice choir, the London Philharmonic arranged and conducted by Michael Kamen, and Rog, his eerie, emotionally charged tenor leading the assault on the senses. The song starts with the usual Floydian wind, but emanating from deep within the left track you hear one thumping note, a bit like a heartbeat, rising to the surface, as if from great depths. And then the majestic main theme starts, punctuated by Mr. Waters' telling of the story of how his father was killed in the war.
If I could write something 1/10th as good, I would consider myself an accomplished artist.
"And the generals gave thanks as the other ranks held back the enemy tanks for awhile/ And the Anzio Bridgehead was held for the price of a few hundred ordinary lives."

I got a haircut today. Shorter than it's been in awhile. The chops aren't going anywhere though.

Who reads this shit? I'm inclined to agree with Jeremy that it is a bunch of random, pointless crap. But it is also therapeutic, oddly soothing. It feeds my narcisstic fires, as I can in some small way believe that people are hanging on every word.
Over the hills and under the stars the road stretches away.
Go Bears.
Fin.

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