De-loused in the Comatorium.

I suddenly have this urge to drop everything and run away.

Must be the preparation for the Film Theory presentation that's doing this to me.

Fuck ah. I don't want to do anymore of this bullcrap. Pretentious film theorists writing longwinded essays about sound in film, urgh.

I think it's time to cut my hair short so that I will be able to use Gatsby hairwax to style it. I think it's time for me to replace my battered shoes with Nike kicks or dunks. I think it's time to get new clothes, to replace my old, faded and holey shirts with street labels such as X-Large, Obey and Von Dutch. I think it's time to get a pair of Levi's jeans. I think it's time to get myself a trucker cap. I think I would like to be stereotyped as being a trendy wanker. I think I would love being a clone.

Oh oh, and a tote bag! Never forget the faggoty looking tote bag that's gonna be slung over my shoulder in that oh-so-faggotish way.

Hell, I might as well put on make up, why not?

Because I'm Julius and I believe in individualism.

Run with the herd my foot. I'm going solo.