For Things Lost and Found
“Carnivorous means you eat plastic stuff… like the reptiles”
Vale!
Heavy fingers thud against the keyboard keys in haste to collect thoughts and write them in the same breath, the tapping sound of which reflecting off the walls thinner than 50gsm paper, while santanic rites plaster the monitor promising eternal damnation for our abandonment of His Evilness. The rectital sounds like the opening to a hard-boiled crime fiction novel, in which one expects Phillip Marlowe to save the day with some witty comment about coy women and impotence. No, his toupee was lost in the torrential rain (or the cruel, cold mercenary wind that shook the campus today). To be honest, the Santanic quote on the monitor looks more like a Latin proverb made by a directionless soul who has consumed enough to write something so ridiculous, and likely consulting his Latin tutor for advice on linguistic speech acts as we speak.
English tutorials for first-year university are appaling. I don’t know if this is some sort of cruel psychological experiment I am being subjected to with patented regard, or whether there are truly soft heads in the classroom. If it were the latter, we’d all be chanting, “Hi, my name is
Despite an overt tone of cynicism, I have stopped in the chaos of the study-day to admire the ripple of fading sunlight that is piercing the clouds of impending night, and patiently wait for Jasmin to finish from her classes to join me in a Psychology lecture on memory. Funny, with the five I have gone to so far, not one of them has helped me remember where I put my nighty-night. One of these days, methinks. One of these days.
-Vale!
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