3WW (Generate, Meager, Tease): Sometime Again

i sit in the rain showered sun;
its meager rays barely touch
my skin, cold with platitudes.
the cobwebs of disbelief stick to me
like a promiscuous virgin
who with a rusty comb teases raven hair.
i want the purple of deep eggplant
or the brown at the center of your eyes
to generate the longing for sometime again.

It's Personal: A Major Change

It was August 1995. Four hours after we departed the house in Connecticut, we arrived in Delaware. Yes, Delaware. The butt of Wayne's 'Hi, I'm in Delaware' joke. The home of the Blue Hens, or as those in Delaware suggest, the ass kickin' chickens. A freshman in college...

I moved into a double that housed three of us. I, TD. And they, Chris and Chris. I felt like I was in an episode of Newhart. Except these two were not at all similar.

There was the Chris from New Jersey. The pretty boy. Surfer. (From New Jersey? Yeah, I didn't really get it either.) Loved The Cure. A band I loved to hate by the end of freshman year. (By the way, in a war between The Cure and Wagner, Wagner wins.)

Then there was the Chris from Staten Island. The city boy. A short Asian who had a ridiculous amount of charm. A diplomat. And a good one at that. A good smile. I got along with him.

I went into Delaware as an International Relations and Economics major. I had no idea what to do with them. I had little idea what one could do with them. I thought, maybe, I'd become a translator. Maybe work for the UN. I never really believed either of those. But thought that I could get away with not thinking about it. I was a frosh after all. Experimenting with vodka and Coors Light. Living in a co-ed dorm where life was always an adventure.

Each and every one of us on that floor had a major or minor breakdown during that first year. I was no different. For me, it came during the second semester. Relatively soon after the beginning of spring semester. Which, for Delaware was well into February, for whatever reason. The breakdown came in early March. Before the drop date. I attended an introductory philosophy course. And we were assigned a paper based on Mircea Eliade's The Sacred and the Profane. All we had to do was discuss the sacred and... wait for it... the profane.

I went to the library. Then back to my room on that warm, rainy March day. I tried to write the paper. And nothing came to me. I argued with the book. Threw the book against the wall. Literally. I tried. God knows I tried. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't write the paper. There was a mental block. That's when the breakdown came. I put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. And I ran. I ran all the way from the dorm to the football stadium. A full 2 miles. In the rain. For no good reason. I'm not a runner. I don't particularly like running. But I ran all the way there. When I got there, I figured out that I had to walk all the way back.

I went to sleep that night.

The next day, I changed my major to math education.

I later changed that major too.

And, after I left Delaware, I got a degree in philosophy...

3WW (Occur, Ragged, Tidy): Haiku

I return not with a bang but a whimper. Still, I return...

When these things occur
Life’s most tidy perfections
Run themselves ragged

A Lighter Shade of Dark

It’s been a while since I attempted it.
     Are you in the dark?
No, not in the dark…
     In the light then?
A lighter shade of grey…
     You smoke?
No, why?
     Because you just said you have a gray lighter.
No, I didn’t. And why are you spelling grey with an ‘a’?
     I’m an American.
I won’t hold that against you.
     What is that supposed to mean?
Nothing in particular…
     But an American is a particular.
Yes, there are only two particular continents that contain the name.
     Better than three.
Not as particular as one.
     The loneliest number.
Don’t change the topic.
     Look who’s talking.
Should we get back to our original conversation?
     Were we having one?
I’d like to think so.
     What of it, then?
It’s been a while since I attempted it.
     No kidding.
No, I’m not kidding.
     About the gray lighter?
Who cares about a grey lighter?
     A smoker, I’m sure.
I don’t smoke.
     That’s a good thing; you could catch cancer.
You don’t catch cancer.
     No, I don’t, but my Uncle Al did.
He didn’t catch cancer either.
     You shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.
No one can catch cancer.
     Wow, are you misinformed.
It’s a diagnosis.
     You’re a Gnostic?
I don’t even know what a Gnostic is.
     Someone who believes in Pleroma and a demiurge, oversimplified.
Oh my God, this conversation is ridiculous.
     Well, if you’re a Gnostic, you probably meant oh my gods.
Can we try to get back to the point?
     What point?
It’s been a while since I attempted it.
     Why so long?
Length of time is relative.
     Not sure about that, but Uncle Al was my relative.
Are you trying to piss me off?
     I generally stay away from bodily fluids.
That’s disgusting.
     Yeah, not sure why you brought it up.
This conversation is useless.
     Have you recently had a useful conversation to which to compare?
Not really…
     Why not?
I only have useful conversations in the light of day.
     You should try a useful conversation with me.
It’s been a while since I attempted it.
     Are you in the dark?

It's Personal: School or Bust

Before I owned the silver 1984 Toyota Celica GT Hatchback with power roof, windows, and doors, I owned a refurbished 10-speed bicycle, my vehicle of choice for traveling to school from my apartment during middle and high school. Like some deranged mailman, I set out on that straight handle-barred bike each morning at 6 a.m. in whatever weather the Board of Education deemed not detrimental for bus travel. And not being a skilled 'biker' as it were, I spent most of my time on the frail - and sometimes frosty - sidewalks avoiding people, dogs, and their leashes. as well as the cars driven by sleepy people, who couldn't care less about students on 10-speeds at 6 a.m. What made me look the most hysterical and ridiculous was the way I 'carried' my bag. For whatever reason, I did not like backpacks during middle and high school. I can't give a good reason why; I simply didn't want to have one. Instead, I carried a duffel bag, a big you-can-fit-all-of-your-books-in-it duffel bag. How does one carry such a bag when venturing to school? Not on one's back lest one break one's back at the age of 15. No, I 'fastened' the bag to the right handlebar and subsequently attempted to wobble the bike the 1.4 miles to the high school.

Of all the mornings I rode to school, I think I can choose a worst. I can give you no date apart from the fact that it was during high school, meaning between August 1991 and June 1995. The rain was falling hard. My mother made the suggestion that I call someone for a ride. Although a good idea, I could think of no 'someone' for whom it wouldn't be an inconvenience. My mother left for work, as she always did, leaving my brother and I to stare into the murky morning. Thinking I had no other choice, I wheeled my bike from the apartment and banged the wheels down the stairs to the front doors of the apartment complex. I 'fastened' my duffel bag to the right handlebar and opened the door. It wasn't raining; it was pouring. But, convinced I had no other choice, I pushed the bike into the rain, sat on the seat, and began pedaling. It would have been better had anything I was wearing been waterproof. But it wasn't. And my book bag? Same issue. Within the first half mile, my hair was as soaked as it had been prior to my post-shower towel drying that morning. By the one mile mark, my socks and school shirt were drenched. I could only imagine my books. And by the time I arrived at school, it looked as though I had driven off a diving board and into the deep end of a pool. I thought about going to my homeroom, but then thought better of it. Having been a nerd in high school, that might have been all the ammunition the other students needed to let loose. Instead, I walked into the office and simply said, 'I can't go to class like this.' Those blessed women agreed and allowed me to call my mother, who contacted someone to take me back to the apartment. I changed and returned to school.

It continued to rain all day.

And I had to ride back home...