The Escape Goat

     The snarky goat escaped his pen again. Too long had the trees suffered the abuse of that salivating brute. I braced myself for battle. The land shall feel his terror no more. My skin chilled as I remembered the wet stench of his hide, that stench that had seared my nostrils in our previous encounter ten minutes ago. Many times we had fought, and he always escaped my grasp; but not this day. I would vanquish this villainous albino demon. 

     I tiptoed silently through the dry grass with the dexterity of a ballerina on stilts. The red-eyed savage’s ear pricked. My fingers tingled at the thought of them around the throat of his pestilency. 

     He continued his placid mastication, and I approached. I was ten feet away when his tail stopped moving and he began turning his thick head. 

     The adrenaline made me feel like time was traveling through jello. I leaped. Whoever said man can’t fly did not see me that day. I joined the realm of the gods for an eternity that was too brief. The goat did not know what hit him, but whatever it was wasn't conscious enough to chase after it when it bolted. 

Writing for fun

To write. What a hard task when you are uninspired. I was talking with my mother today and she told me to write her an email. That made me realize I should write more. It’s not that I think that I am imparting great knowledge from above unto your insipid brains. This exercise is actually for me, and you get to tag along. Today I took a walk. It was evening and the partially visible sun was nearing the horizon. There were splotches of blue escaping from the dull strangling clouds. It was slightly cold and there was a chill wind that made my ears complain. The neighborhood I walked through had many trees and some grass that was defying the death of winter. I realized that no matter what we do, the sun is there, whether we see it or not. This made me want to write a poem. “I love you like the sun rises. You may not see it, but even behind all those imposing clouds and storms of trouble, it is always there.”

 I suddenly realized I had not been paying attention to the path I was traveling, but that was fine. I took the road less traveled by accident; but I took it, so it still counts. I wasn't worried either; the worst that can happen in Moscow when you get lost is that you find yourself in the outskirts of the town. All you have to do is turn around.

This past week was hard but memorable and epic. Then there was the Ash Wednesday service at Trinity. I felt convicted by the line that went something like, ‘we confess the impatience of our lives.’ I realized how restless I had become; I had started to look down on school and wanted to start doing other things, like preparing for the future. I wanted to already graduate. I know I must prepare, but this goes hand in hand with school. I must be faithful in the little things, like music worksheet handouts.

Three more weeks until Spring Break; It seems so close but unattainable. There is final’s week to get through, and papers to write; but the hope is defiantly making its presence known, like the sky. In a declamation I jokingly used the metaphor, “It was like the dream I never had, which, by the way, was blue.” Maybe these words were prophetic. The future is a dream that keeps changing never becoming truly what we expected to be. But there it is looming promising something better, or at least, different. 

Valentines invitation

This declamation was out of the ordinary. My classmate, Reuben, and I gave a declamation together. We wrote two sonnets. I said my firs quatrain and he interrupted me from the balcony of the Nuart with the next quatrain. Then, as he ran down the stairs to join me in the front, I said the next quatrain. Best declaiming experience ever.

Joseph: Today we celebrate Saint Valentine;

Defended love and marriage with his life

From Emp’ror Claudius’ ban which was malign.

And thus he quelled the ever sad’ning strife

Reuben: We will forget traditions of the past,

But love forever stands and lets us know

The trials that we face we can outlast;

Our hope-filled hearts will vanquish any foe.

Joseph: My son, the words you speak are very trite-

For freshmen love is not allowed to be-

Your sorry quibbles, put them out of sight.

Think only of “associate degree”.

Reuben: Your constipated soul you must release!

Joseph: Your mushy little feelings must now cease!

Reuben: But so insensitive you have become;

Delighting things of beauty you ignore.

Your unimpassioned self must now succumb,

For freshmen celebrations do adore.

Joseph: Dear chap I do believe you got me wrong.

I don’t command festivities forgo.

In fact, you know, I’ll gladly come along,

And Honor to Creation’s Crown bestow.

Reuben: A feast in house of Courtney we will host,

So bring your party faces and some pies,

And to your health dear classmates we will toast,

To gladden all your days with this surprise.

Joseph: And Valentine’s tradition will be kept.

Reuben: We hope our invitation you accept.

Crazy Creative Sketch

The greatest state man can achieve- sleep- was cut short by the infernal cry that Doug and Burrow’d into my ears. Devon’s alarm once again made me lose all the fruits of the spirit. “Devon, what time is it?”

“What?” His vacant face reminded me of the dream I never had, which, by the way, was blue, like the color blue.

“What time is it?”

“What?” I was about to berate him, saying, “can’t you understand English? I said ‘what time is it?’” Then I realized that I had been speaking in Spanish.

“I’m sorry Devon.” He conked out like my imagination in this sentence.

I went to my desk and stared at the blank page that yearned to be inhabited by a belly-quivering-worthy declamation. Having psyched myself up, I attempted to write: “He snored like a victimized cow in the hands of Gary Larson…” The metaphors oozed out like the drunken slobber of a hobo. Maybe one day I would be able to command them to descend from my brain to the page like glorious paratroopers in the midst of victory. I will make the Grinch green with envy, the dying elephant in the room howl with excitement! I want fame, glory, applause, and vanilla twinkies!  

Declamation about Latin, using commonplaces

     What am I to thee that thou shouldest command me to love thee, and be angry with me, and threaten me with great mischiefs, unless I do love thee? Death is nothing, but to live with a minime is to die daily. Think of Latin as Christianity. The grammar quizzes are the Ten Commandments and they are there to condemn you. I try to enjoy a slap in the face and love the unexpected, but Latin is a continuous onslaught. But if Latin was purely pessimistic and opposed to life, I was prepared to blow up Friendship Square. But Latin is not that terrible and it’s always better with cocaine. It teaches us humility; to imitate Jesus, Socrates and Hans Oerberg. Magister took from us the right to be boneheads; we no longer stand around grunting and pointing. Logic will take you from A to B, Latin will take you everywhere, like purgatory, Magister’s office, hell, the bagel shop, a psychiatrist. Latin keeps us sane, because those who really believe in themselves are all in lunatic asylums. And always remember: The true discipulus studies not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him, his tergum.