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January 20, 2002

I dreamt last night that I was tearing off the wings of a crow, and eating them. The wings crunched in my mouth, while the bird ran about the table.

I ripped off the second wing, and bit on the feathers, chewing meticulously to make sure the wing didn't hurt going down. The crow wasn't in pain, it just seemed a little confused that it couldn't fly.

I suddenly realized that it would be cruel to keep this bird alive without its wings, but I couldn't bring myself to kill it. What if I tried, and it didn't die right away? What would I kill it with?

I spent some time looking for a large, and sharp, enough knife, and settled on a large cooking knife. I held the bird in my left hand, and it calmly lay there, exposing its belly while I aimed the point of the knife.

I was getting ready to stab it straight through when I woke.

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