3/17

There's a man.  He's shouting at me.  I think he's shouting at me.  From up ahead.  Should I change my route?  Cut down the next street?  Cross the road?

It's so damn grey out.

I squint at him through the mist and convince myself he must be crazy.  That he's throwing his hands above his head in madness.  In sheer insanity.  Pacing and turning in obsessive urgencies.

I turn my head to the park.  The scattered trees.  The swing set.  The monument of someone on a horse.  The cold morning dew perched on each blade of grass.

Then he's yelling again.  Spit sprays from his mouth in the orange light of the street lamp.  His beard is wild.  Like tangled vines.

I'm a block away now.  My breath has quickened.  Maybe my pace.  Why haven't I turned?  I'm being pulled in.  A whirlwind.  A vortex.

His words are garbled.  Confused.  Rampant.  They barge out before he can put order to them.  Arrange them at all.

I step over the manhole cover in the center of the road, then onto the sidewalk he dominates.  His back is to me and I try to time it so I can slip by without him ever knowing my presence, but he turns.

He turns so swift and suddenly half his beard trails over his shoulder.

Then there are screams.  From him.  From me.  A panicked fumbling.

And I catch glimpses of my misfortune.  I catch glimpses of my body being found hours later on the curb.  Bludgeoned to unconsciousness.  Maybe death.  Robbed.  Crippled.  A mess.

But as I bolt down Cedar Drive I hear something.  Something familiar.  Something my brain recognizes.

I hear words.  And they're saying: boy, slow down!  Boy, slow down!  You're crazy moving that fast this early!

3/16

He can see someone approaching out of the corner of his eye.  As he cradles the can of colas intended for the vending machine, he sees someone approaching.

And he doesn't turn until she's there.   Leaning close to him as she speaks.  Her dark brown eyes grow bigger before him.  Her smooth skin toys with the soft lighting of the cloudy day.  Her straight black hair blankets her chest.

Excuse me, she's saying with a slight bow, can you please assist me?

And he takes a moment to glance at the Hello Kitty iPhone case in her right hand.  The sleek black purse over her left shoulder.  Her tiny ankle boots lined with animal fur.

He blinks at her.  Nods.

I need to find Forman Hall, she says, leaning closer, pressing into him with her curious gaze.  Do you know where it is? She asks, tilting her head to the left.  

But now his attention has traveled to her jawline.  How defined.  Her neck.  How inviting.  Her tight lips.  

She straightens up.  Do you know? She repeats.  Eyebrows raised.  Quizzical.  Eager.

He blinks a few times.  Reorients himself.  Places the first cola can into the slot labeled A1.

Forman Hall? He asks, coughing on his words.

Mm, she says, nodding her head.  A patient smile.

He looks behind them at the courtyard.  The red bricks of Friar Library.  The vending machine before the Hanley Building at the other end.  The circle of students smoking cigarettes by the big oak tree.

No, he says, no, I don't.

3/15

There's mold in the shower.  He pushes it with his forefinger.  

It's slimy.  Like snot.

He rolls it between his forefinger and thumb.  Makes a mold noodle.  Then drops it.  Watches it ride the rush of water down the drain.

Then it's back to cleaning himself.

He massages shampoo into his beard.  It makes his chin tingle.  Probably the peppermint, he thinks as the burn intensifies.  

Saturday.  This is Saturday.

He can hear his cat screaming from outside the bathroom door.  

Complaints.  Wails.  His cat does not meow.

Shut up, he mumbles as water streams down the back of his neck.  Pours over his face.  His nostrils.  His mouth.  His eyes.  

Please, shut up, he repeats.

Magow, the cat calls.  Magow.

And the wind pushes so hard against the window he wishes it would break through and swoop him up.  Spiral him into the air.  Throw him about with such spontaneous speeds and velocity that his senses would pause.  They would brake.  

And when he'd land he'd be unknown.  And the land would be unknown to him.  And he would keep that relationship as long as he could.

8/13

There's this tree.

There's this tree and it stands so tall and immense and it doesn't complain.

Never complains.

Most people don't even know it exists. Most folks just walk right past it. Never give it any mind.

It'll out-live all those people. Every last one of them.

Sometimes children will play on and around it. They'll climb the enormous, stooping branches. They'll run around the massive trunk. Sleep in its shade. Dream on its base. Then leave. Don't say bye or thank you.

The tree will out-live them too.

Sometimes, though, the tree just stands there. Alone. Jutting up into the sky - a backdrop of clouds and blue. Reaching and stretching outward. Roots sprawling underground. Digging. Growing. Being.

There's this tree.

And it's so tall.

7/15

I'm on a mountain. I'm on a mountain and other mountains stand before me. They roll over each other in waves of green. Shadows from the clouds passing above creep atop the trees. Flowing onward and onward.

There's a woman sitting on a rock below me. She places a hand on the back of my calf and exhales slowly. Contentedly. Peacefully. She exhales.

And I look down at her for a moment, before a breeze brings me back to the view. To the wilderness sprawled out before me. I must take it in. I must remember this.

This seems like something to remember. Something worth looking back on later. Something.

So I open my nostrils and suck in the cool mountain air. Let the sun heat my skin. Feel the rocks under my boots.

Yes, this is definitely worth something.

7/11

Daily, it seems to me now, I see glimpses of lives I could be leading. These doors open. Curtains pulled. Veils lifted. And just for a moment, I see something magnificent. I see possibilities.

And, yes, maybe it is a fantasy or an enabling of some childlike dream. Maybe I'm giving way to grandiose temptations. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself.

But how attractive that other life! How pleasant and debonair my other self. How exciting and thrilling my other daily activities. How tantalizing and energizing the food. How suave my clothes. How accommodating and caring my lover. How composed my stature and secure my finances, but free my will and peaceful my spirit. How -

Oh, yes.

Right.

Not giving in to such things.

10/15

What happened to this thing?

When did I decide to let it whither and die? Am I giving it life right now?

As a couple sits to my left, possibly engaged in sexual interactions. Her hand, possibly on his member.

Is that the life this thing needs?

Or the gentlemen to my right debating how hard it actually is to quit smoking? To cease breathing smoke into one's lungs?

Is that the life required to keep a blog alive?

To keep my fingers moving on these keys?

I'm not sure.

But I've been a victim to a toxic relationship that has fallen apart and I've been sticking my days out with hope for better days in the future and I've been here.

I've been here.

I've been here.

Is that enough?