In the middle of a fire fight near the front lines I accidentally changed sides and fought for three days alongside the Ants. I was the last Ant standing at the famous battle of Blood Drenched Hill. I stood there in the sudden silence with dead bodies from both sides piled all around me; my feet soaked in blood, blood dripping off my chin.

When they came to arrest me, I just threw the nanoblaster on the ground and staggered like a zombie through the fog. Eventually I got here, in this padded cell with no windows. It' some kind of rehabilitation military hospital for the alternatively perceptually insane; something like that.

I was confused, they told me. Evidently, there is some cosmic jamming machine that only allows us to be conscious for nano seconds. They said that God needs for us to be confused. That's why He created mind altering drugs, commercials, and propaganda through our Mann Glasses. It's part of a long range plan that doesn't include our mutual survival.

Oh yeah, and I got shot in the head. I almost forget to tell you. Nothing serious, just minor spectacle damage and a blown Limbic Implant.

I saw my medical report on the chart after the nurse went screaming from the room. No big deal, I just readjusted her rear end when she bent over to pinch me with the pointy calipers. Anyway, I have terminal Touretts Syndrome, massive cerebral opinionations, a few screws loose in the posterior parietal motor region, hysterical blindness, and my self control is crippled. Oh, and my penis was removed for rehabilitation.

Listen, I just read this great review on my Mann Glasses, on the futuristic channel where you can watch what happened years from now. I found a review of my novel "The Universal Joint" by Timothy Ishmael Esquire. It's pretty favorable.

This book "Lusting for Gluttony at the Universal Joint" raises several important issues. Then, somewhere near the middle of the eight hundred pages, the author steps out for a smoke and never returns.

Actually, let me be honest here. I have this back problem. My proctologist says there is a nervous link between the anal muscles and the pituitary gland in the head. So, if I understand correctly, if you sit on your ass all day long reading and writing and you have to be acerbic and witty so much that battery acid leaks out your belly button (I'm a critic) then this neurological pathway gets so hot that steam blows out your ass at parties and church. You have to swallow little purple pills and drink a half gallon of Soma water every day. I'll be right back; I have diarrhea.

Okay, I feel a lot better, thanks. Where was I? Oh yeah, the book. Look, honestly I only read to the middle. Did you see that? What the hell was that!

Anyway, the deadline is tomorrow, my back aches, and I am so tired of fucking books I could puke. Actually, I do puke: words, words, words, puke, puke, puke. Nancy get the barf bucket. Nancy get the mop. What the hell are those things! Flying dogs? Did somebody leave a window open?

So, yeah, the book is heavy and deals with serious stuff like life and death and the cost of vision exams. There is also some fine pseudo-mythological rehash and some nice bullshit about digital perception. And I did like the part about the dead brother. Oh shit! Now there's two of them. Do we have any bear traps, Nancy? These fuckers are huge, and they fly.

Oh yeah, the book, Lusting after Gluttony or something like that, it's okay. I recommend reading it on the nanoflush, you can wipe your fat ass with the pages. Good lord! That one's big as a horse! Get my shotgun, Nancy.

There's a sign on President Nergal's office door: "God marks on a curve."

"Do you know why I send for you, Mr. Detroit?"

"No sir. I thought I was never to set foot in your office again, sir."

"Did I not also make it very clear that no student was to write poetry?"

"Well, sir, yes, but I didn't write that poem."

"It has your name on it. It smells like you."

"I was framed, sir."

"I would like you to think of me for a moment as your heart surgeon. Can you do that?"

"Yes, sir."

"I'm just about to plunge my saw into your chest when I find out you fucked my favorite secretary."

"That didn't happen, sir."

"She says you look at her funny, that you have pervert eyes. Do you want me to believe a beautiful, intelligent, loyal employee, the daughter of a prominent politician, or should I believe you, a whinny, irritating, rat eating, poet who barely survived his orientation. What do you think, Shakespeare?"

"I'm speechless, sir."

"You're Goddamn right you're speechless. You get your sorry ass over to the gym confessional and you tell Dr. Alaster the truth. Otherwise, I'm going to run your ass through a meat grinder and serve you to the senior class. We do not allow poetry in professional school. And just for the record, do you know what we call Potentials who lust after the school secretary?"

"No, sir."

"Eunuchs. Would you like to drink some poison?"

"No thank you, sir."

"We might have to trade you to the Aztecs during Holy Week."

"Yes, sir."

"By the way, we analyzed the results of your intake interview. You need testicular orthodontia and a radical genital lobotomy.

"Would an apology help. sir?"

"You owe the college thirty thousand shekels for traffic fines. Have you paid those fines yet?"

"No. sir."

"After you get done confessing, you trot over to the comptroller and pay your bills like a good citizen."

"Absolutely, sir."

"No more poetry."

"No, sir."

"Beep, beep."

"Oh yeah, beep, beep. Hello sir. I'm here to confess."

"We haven't seen you in church for a while, sinner."

"I know sir, it's my asthma; I have trouble breathing in professional school. I can't sleep at night and then I can't get up in the morning."

"What brings you to the confessional taxi, Mr. Detroit?"

"I'm not going to pay my traffic ticket. I'm innocent! I didn't write any poetry, either. I was framed. And no way did I sleep with her, ever. I think I would have remembered, don't you?"

There was an explosion last night, outside. It lasted about ten seconds. I was too tired to get up and check it out. Maybe another methane blast in the moat. Probably nothing.

The portal mirror makes me self conscious. I change clothes under my three sizes too big green robe- at least it's good for something. I feel like aliens are laughing at me while I'm getting dressed.