That Gosh Dang Awful Haiku of Irony

To love and to die

is life at its inmost fate,

but to die sans love…

This one didn't make it into the Sojourn, but I thought I'd take it from my politics class notes and share anyways.

Fe

"Iron-control on the isolated territory."

What am I writing my paper about?

Hint: think about
my interests
recent news
1982
and not communism

Adde "e"

It'se juste one ofe those dayse whene youe type ane "e" aftere everye single worde.

Ane underlyinge resulte ofe readinge tooe muche ofe anythinge ine olde Englishe. Perhapse ite hase become a subconsciouse habite?

Someone helpe me please, before mye entire papere ise underlinede in rede.

Private Java Estate

Food Court coffee is usually less than so so, but today's option was named "Java Estate Coffee." The odd name deterred my hope in its quality, but it was the only coffee offered so I succumbed to a cup filled to the brim.

Best coffee ever, and it was probably just regular anyways.

Lesson: getting too creative with mixing blends is your downfall, dear food court.

Just stick with the fancy names.

Realismo mágico

Sometimes I feel like my situation in life is the essence of magical realism.

Sweet Dreams

It's not very often that a person I love very dearly enters my dream, a person who is now a mere memory, for their body is no longer living or breathing.

But when they do, it just might be the sweetest and most delicate of experiences.

We go about our daily lives with the acceptance that those people are no longer able to communicate with us and experience our lives as we grow up.

But getting the opportunity to have a conversation with them, years later, is absolutely thrilling. You can tell them about how you finally graduated high school, the excitement of falling in love, the great books you've read, the times that you dialed their number to tell them some exciting news and then realizing that their number had been disconnected because they were no longer alive, having a conversation with them about something you knew nothing about as a child, but now are equipped to talk about as your years have advanced, your experiences have advanced.

You you are sitting there, at an unknown location, sipping hot tea, and discussing life, a life that has been without them.

Only in our sweet dreams can we be comforted by the fact that it doesn't really matter that they were never there to experience the rest of your life with you, all that matters is that life itself is merely a sweet moment, and memories and apparently my subconscious, thankfully, are sweet moments as well.

Thanks for the great conversation, friend.

Squirrel Meat

I remember my disturbing dream quite vividly.

The squirrel was to attack and land on me just like the wolf landing on High King Peter in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe." 

The squirrel missed landing on my sharp stick, so I skewered it.
But, when I skewered it, it pulled apart as if it were cooked chicken. I repeatedly skewered it, as if I were pulling apart my deliciously cooked meal.

So my question is what in spastic squirrel territory was I subconsciously thinking in my dream?
My roommate consoled me by saying that I was probably just hungry.
But, for squirrel meat?

The violence was probably the famished stomach of mine expressing its rabid hunger.
We can only hope...