A Step Closer To Zen...


Nicholas Ivan Ladendorf


I always told my hair that

it could ever leave me.


I would dump it could.


That day has come.



None of my friends were available and I decided a year ago that I am against paying for haircuts (after having several salons refuse to give me a mohawk),

so there was only one reasonable thing to do:

At first I played it safe taking out little bits here and there

but with less cerimony than I thought myself capable I started hacking away

Only wincing at the physical pain of using right handed scissors.

It was tedious...

..but I made several flushes worth of progress.

Those of you who know me must be wondering by now, "What about the rat tail?"

This was a dillema. I had vowed to never cut it off when I was eight years old,

and even the promise of sexual favors from drunken skanks has not convinced me

to violate that sacred oath.

But nothing is worth having if it isn't worth risking,

so despite the dangers,

As I cut more and more long strands of hair that I didn't intend to cut,

came free in my hand,



...perhaps anorexic but still intact.

Past the danger I stepped back and admired my handywork...

The only part I'm not sure I like is the homo-erotic feelings I'm giving myself.

One less reason to leave home...