my self portrait

web1000’s servers have been quite funky since yesterday (the 26th), so i haven’t been able to upload any of this… so yeah. My apologize to my faithful readers. have mercy on me.

today, web1000’s servers are down until midnight, so, since all of you won’t be reading this till tomorrow, i’m going to post something i’ve been meaning to for a long time now. now, if you’ll please, another post that time forgot:

a few weeks ago, i went to starbucks with my good friend matt.

we sat down with our various caffeinated and juiced-up drinks, and there it was. the two girls that were sitting next to us at the counter had their backs to it… and as they stood up to leave, it still had no owner.

it was some kind of chocolate croissant. i hate chocolate croissants. whenever a chocolate croissant comes up to me on the street and says “wazzup, benvolio!” i say “leave me alone, satan.” but that’s just how chocolate croissants and i are. we’re like that.

so, to find this baby chocolate croissant (which we will hereafter refer to as Cho Cro) all alone in the world, without noone to eat it… it would have tugged at my heartstrings, if i had any. i asked the barista at the front counter about it, and they told me to eat it.

kind of rude thing to say to a customer.

so matt and i contemplated it. for about an hour and a half, we joked that it must have been the king of some kind of croissant country, and that if i were making a new united nations, the croissant country would not be invited. like i said, that’s how Cho Cro and i are. we’re like that.

as we got up to leave, i decided to return it to the register, uneaten, and only a sad shadow of it’s prior Cho Cro self… and we get a little back history on our chocolatey friend.

turns out that it had been sitting there for about 4 or 5 hours, because some old lady had ordered it, then had left without it.

crazy, crazy, cra-hey-zee.

picture from this post provided by the almighty matt. direct your further photographic needs to him.

life is a very large building, and you can either go up the stairs, or go down them.

but i haven’t found the roof yet.

every single wavering glance, every shutting door, every wince of pain… they all worry the hell out of me now.

in the past two weeks i’ve had to deal (more frequently than ever) with the idea that everything can end or begin in an instant. nothing is forever, everything is temporary. especially when you’re in college.

every ten weeks my friends and i change classes. we may see each other five days a week, have coffee in the evenings as the band plays, or watch the occasional west wing together. we may see each other never, and forget the laughter and the rest of the memories

may i never forget the laughter and the memories.

so, this is a transitory time. it’s designed that way. nothing ever stays the same.

and that’s why every single shutting door scares me. tomorrow, my life may be entirely the same, or completely different. it could bend a thousand ways, and it seems that fate lately has been tempting me with glimpses into lives that i very easily could lead, yet don’t want to.

i’ve watched sarah take on several sicknesses of different intensities over the last few weeks. last night, she told me she envied my ability to sleep so easily. i can fall asleep anywhere. in class, in a chair, on a table, in the middle of a chess game… it doesn’t matter. sleep arrives.

but not last night. three hours of fitfully disrupted sleep. and it’s because of my worry.

and today is one of the few days that i haven’t slept in class. i have energy and creativity, and it’s because of my worry.

she’s better today. she told roommate number 4 that she thinks it was just food poisoning. and food poisoning was the cause of my worry.

and i feel better. my worry disappeared, and i’m as tired as hell, but i feel more awake now than i ever have been.

yet i’m still so scared

[Never grow accustomed; the brittle, often shimmering heat…] by Pablo Peschiera
after Walcott

Never grow accustomed; the brittle, often-shimmering heat,
the breeze thick in the leafless branches,
the mourning coos at dawn, the bleat of cars’ horns,
the rains beating their hosannas, hails of drums and street torrents,
because at your age you must look forward
although serene extinction lies with you each day
at sunset, and your gift may never appear in this page;
you move through this horizon at a bull’s lope,
the forgotten behind it, the unknown ahead,
and all that you seek is this craft, all its wants—
what does it know of death? That you embrace it,
in all its flame-like unadulterated mystery,
its darkness, but without this pain, the prickle of consciousness, loam
the imagined taste of it, oblivion, oblivion;
never grow accustomed to the small star’s dying flicker
that contracts the heart; and the weakening nod
of the sobered head. You will end not to praise, to exalt,
capping the shimmering, ever-brittle heat
and the thickenings of skin often bourn,
the ever-present noise of the you city-soul,
the waters rising, then the silencing of the rain-songs,
the heat dissipating the reflections in its sheer vapors.