Saturday, October 18th, 2003 | 1:36
a word to the not-quite-conscious?

I compose convoluted, drawn-out sentences in my head all day. They travel, five across, down my neural pathways, bumping into each other and my speech ends up a train-wreck of retarded fragments.
I want the "incredible" ability to befuddle supermodels and P. Diddy with magic. They will raise their arms in terrified bewilderment, screaming "THE GODS ARE ANGRY!!! STAY AWAY, VOODOO MAN!!!"
This is my dream.

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