March 8th, 2003 - 8:39 a.m.

March marches onward. (Bad pun, I know.)

The curve of hairs, making dancing intersecting parabolas with a slight breeze. Half asleep realization that mathematics rule the intricacies of beauty.

A non existent cackle in the ears, ominous and non predictory.

A mess, beyond quantitative means, requires much organization, and styrofoam insulating fragile parts.

All is, as per standard, not and is as it seems.

N.

�