2004-05-21 - 5:09 p.m.

Migraine feels like a scrimshaw needle etching out fractals on my inner skull.

When I die, the medical student that receives my body will tap a chisel and crack open my head and see the imagery of my agony. She will sneak off with my brain-pan and sell it at Christy's for millions of dollars.

And I will become immortal.