22:41 - June 29, 2002
heroin barber et. al.
In dreamland last night, I was getting my hair cut by a young, shaggy-haired man who lived in a cave with glitter on the walls. He did the sides very nicely, then suddenly put down the scissors, dragged my mother into a corner, and started conferring with her in whispered voices. He nodded. She shook her head. He pulled his razor. She looked away and handed him a small white baggie. He then pocketed the razor and the baggie and ran away through a hidden back entrance in the cave's walls.
"Isn't he going to finish cutting my hair?" I asked my mother, who was looking quite distressed. 'He did the sides but the back is hanging down and it looks like I gave myself a mullet on purpose."
"Well, I made a deal with him that if he cut your hair then I would give him some heroin, and I came up short on the heroin, so I guess he only thought he had to cut half your hair."
However unrelated it may be, I'v ben reading too much Irvine Welsh and bouldering in the bouldering cave every day and I woke up chewing on a sweaty strand of my hair... blecchh.

In the cave tonight I began having this strange feeling that he was going to come through the door while my back was turned (not heroin barber, someone else), but that I had to be hanging off the wall when he came and be listening to an uplifting song. Being that the mixtape in the stereo was filled with heartsick wailers and pissed off rockers, my chances were slim, so during Incubus' 'Are You In?', Rockapella's 'Moments of You', and Frente's 'Ordinary Angels', I clung to the sparse handholds like a squirrel on acid, frantically switching footholds and grabbing the ceiling and practically doing the splits in my efforts to have a wide enough base not to topple over and break my uplifting-song-wall-clinging-door-appearing-boy groove. Mmmm... nobody said my gut feelings necessarily had anything to do with reality. Would have been nice, though, if I didn't have a heart attack. At this point seeing his name in the inbox would nearly give me a heart attack, so it wouldn't take much... it's a matter now of him either being dead or never having existed... I probably don't mean that but it's good for the image so stop reading through the cross out already....if there's a split personality there it has to be a woman. Nobody knows what I'm on about anyway... NYAH.

Tomorrow's the Pride Parade, and hopefully I'll be at it. Relevant enough for the peekers?

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