MONDAY, 24 JULY, 2000, PHILADELPHIA

Pleasant stuff first. Everyone wish a happy birthday to the Marquis’ cherished pater, le Vicompt de Scôpe! Happy birthday, daddums! The world is your daisy! Pluck it! Well that was fun. This is the Marquis, comin’ atcha, live and unplugged! No, literally. I have been forced to unplug myself for the next few weeks before I leave for good, having been victim to a rather childish coup de pied of sorts at the ole’ toil-factory. If I gave it any thought or energy, it would mean a bridge will have to be been burned. And I try to make it a habit not to do that. And so I am unplugging myself — shutting my fat trap, swallowing anger, dignity and blood (from biting my tongue). For the next handful of weekdays, I will be an empty shell of a human being, totally without emotion (as much as I can kill off anyway), ideas, concern, empathy or thought. I am a digital clock whose cord has been yanked from the wall and plugged back in quickly: 12:00 Remind me again why I have ethics? Oh, y’all want details, huh? Maybe another time, chickies. I’m far too unplugged to go into all that at the moment. Soz.