Sunday, April 18th, 2004

I’m in a room with a lot of people. We’re plotting a violent uprising. There’s a form we’re filling out to apply for some position. In reality, everyone who’s filling out the form is participating in the rebellion. When I sign my name, the ink bleeds a bit on the page.

I whisper to one coconspirator about tactics. I ask her if we can make Molotov cocktails. She says they’re illegal. I laugh and say, “So is violent uprisings.” I keep asking her if she wants to go outside and get more cardboard boxes (as an excuse to discuss plans in private).