2003-05-09 - 7:40 a.m.

Inanimate objects take new forms, dripping with surreality. An opressive gravity presses my mind into some sort of full, flat thing. It feels, now, a bit like a wounded, flat bird, trying to spread out its wings in a one-dimensional vaccum. My day has been a blur. I quickly filled in math problems, new concepts processing somewhere in the back of my head where I could not hear it happening, but could tell from the way my pencil moved that it indeed was. An over-enthusiastic French girl spoke rubbish, while I sat awe-struck as my sense of reasoning filled with cement. A long stair case with faces arranged systematically across the ceiling leered at me, an indestructable pantheon of Roman and Greek gods harmonizing as they evaluated the worth of my own existence. I shrank inside myself, only to pop out again like a masochistic jack-in-the-box. The enormity of setting a pencil down upon a desk sent echoes through the room, and throughout the universe. I was enormously tiny. I was significantly unimportant. I became, constantly evolving into something cognitive, something reptilian, and strangely aware, being left with nothing but evaportating puddles of surrealism from every unestablished object.