petty shit that doesn't matter that I can't get off my mind that keeps falling off my head

I'm totally gone. Neurosis, psychosis, fetish, monomaniacal obsession. Crazy.

I brush my hair forward and when I use the term "hair" I do so loosely. 18-25, let's say, this wasn't nothing that a little creative combing couldn't fix. At 30 I'm a walking McDonald's commercial (is this my punishment for frequenting their "restaurants" over and above what most health professionals recommend?). There's a massive 'M' that defines my hairline and an ugly one too. Looks like a five year old was learning to write and they used my head as a scratch pad.

There's an old philosophical paradox where you try to figure out when a grain of sand that you add more grains to one at a time, becomes a pile of sand. A more popular version of this conundrum (because it's funny), is deciding on the point when a balding man can officially be categorized as bald.

Stitches.

Do you know what's really funny? Elisha.

There have been many great bald luminaries throughout history: Plato (who according to legend was also extremely ugly), Caesar, Gandhi, Hulk Hogan, the list goes on. But none of these did more to further the cause of the bald man's burden than Elisha (Not even Jordan who made being bald almost cool).

Elisha's walking. Elisha's bald. Kids tease Elisha about his condition. The follically challenged one does what any good prophet of the Lord would do under the circumstances; he summons she bears, not just any bears, but she bears to teach the kids a lesson. That lesson being 1. Don't ever fuck with a prophet of the most high God and 1.(a) Mocking a bald man about baldness is like telling your wife that she's putting on weight, you don't go there. A handy piece of street wisdom that would no doubt serve the 42 children, that had just been filleted, well in the next life.

Presumably our hero continued on his journey secure in the knowledge that he'd furthered the Lord's work by curbing population growth, because being fruitful and multiplying can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Kids are better off dead than incurring the wrath of bald men, really.

Just think about it. This guy could make axes float on water, which isn't exactly walking on water, but we can't all be the son of God now can we? I mean as miracles go he was doing OK for himself, healing leper kings, the axe thing, and summoning she bears. This is a minor regret in my becoming a non traditional mormon, I'll never be privy to these prophetic abilities. Still the question remains, with all that priestly power that he wielded why not just reverse the curse and reconstitute his naked cranium to its once resplendent glory?

It's simple: THERE IS NO CURE FOR BALDNESS!

Its' over. I'm done. I'm finished.

The End: The mirror doesn't lie.

editor's note: when you begin canabalising your own work that's when you know you've made it...

When I first started going bald, that's when I knew I was mortal.

You never forget that first time feeling when you realize you're fallible, biodegradable.

After passively absorbing mass media paranoia for an undisclosed number of years, you find yourself looking through a fogged lens staring into a different kind of beautiful. You look around. You see caricatures of youth, signifiers with a 'strange valley' feel that tell you something is not quite right. Why settle for temporary cosmetic solutions when you can have the real thing.

My estimated half-life is is just the same as everyone elses. Take the average life expectancy of any westernized nation, adjust for the early years you can never remember and the final ones that you'd rather forget, if Alzheimer's doesn't get you first, then divide by two. According to this rationale, I'm statistically over half-way to extinction.

Nothing like encroaching spectre of death to liven things up a little.

"Die pussy as mothers".

That's Stanislav, he's new to English.