What is this (thing called love)?

Found in the notebook. Haven't the foggiest. It's like brain leakage.

Imagine that you're sitting in a little room.
And imagine that you have the power to stop all these nightmares with the pull of a single lever...but you do not pull the lever.

I think what I was getting at, actually, was that sometimes a good story needs someone to make a surprising decision at the moment of climax (yes, that is the appropriate term. I'm trying to be serious here people), a strange decision -- perhaps the 'wrong' decision. Or it could have had something to do with the fact that I had been sitting in the airport in Munich for three hours, and it was something like five in the morning Turkish time. Whichever.

I was going to end that post there, but I think I really have to share with all my latest musical obsession. No, not Kraftwerk. I'm talking about one of the foremost rockers of the modern era, the heart and soul of the ridiculously popular band called Radiohead (which I've actually already mentioned like three times on this blog. Damn I'm a nerd): Johnny Greenwood's hair.

I want this. So badly. It's entirely Ariel's responsibility to make sure I never get my hair styled (styled?) this way. The world is safe only so long as she is the one person with short black hair in the group.

However, no one is preventing me from morphing into one of these guys:

And, I mean, it's not like they're the only 70s scandinavian band with supernatural hairstyles and outfits from outer space. (Although I admit a particular fondness for those pants.) No, what kills me about this is Erik the Red in the corner there. I've only seen that expression once before in my life, and it was on a muppet.

It's all the fault of the dream.