On December 2, I sent a reply to The Journal for an article that was published just a few hours after this publication.
The issue of “safe spaces” around the United States became nation-wide, and the University’s AAAC (Association of African-American Collegians) in partner with other universities demanded a “safe space” at the university. The article I responded to addresses the unwillingness to respond to the demand of the AAAC with an objective outlook required for a reputable journalist.As such, I felt it was pertinent that I, as a writer and student at the university, respond to the subjectively negative article with an objectively positive response.
This issue of 78 Magazine was completed during Spring of 2016 when I studied abroad in Switzerland. I was a co-editor for the magazine, which meant I helped to edit the articles, arrange the layout for print, fact-checked the authors and their work, ensured consistency throughout the magazine, and followed up on anything that needed to be finished.
I am listed as a contributor because my time given to the magazine was during the finalization process.
Use it cyclically, he said. I don’t want to; it’s bogus and mundane. Can’t believe he is making me do this. Yes I control the weather, but if I want a week of storms, then so be it. If I want constant tornadoes, then it shall be so. Hah. Cyclically. Who the hell does he think he is?
“I am God.”
They were amused by my jokes. They did not realize that my jokes were threats. They never took me seriously and I don’t know why they should; I’m abnormal. I was born with a third arm, of which is dead center on my back, and I have four fingers on one hand, and seven on the other. Unfortunately for my third arm, it is just a stub with a single thumb. They laughed at this because I amused them, and I told them I would use my third arm to kill them. They laughed. They thought it was a joke, but it’s not.
He gestured to me and I ignored it. I didn’t think it was necessary, that simple gesture of wanting to hold hands. Why didn’t I? It just wasn’t the right moment. There would be other moments. But every moment is a special moment, and soon there won’t be any left. He’ll be gone, and I’ll be here, wondering, and missing that small hand gesture that I always took for granted.
Broadening your opinions on life is really hard and a difficult task to do. You have to step out of your comfort zone, hurt some people, and possibly be hurt yourself, both in the physical and mental stages that is called life. People are going to come into your life, who you are going to care greatly for, and they will wreck it, leaving you alone and helpless because you thought for the slightest amount of time, that they cared a little bit about you, too. People are going to leave you, not because you did anything, or not because they want to, but because in life, people come and people go. Nothing is ever permanent and nothing will ever be permanent, which is the sad thing about it. Change is inevitable and the fear of losing or getting hurt will not only deter you from being you, it will deter you from just being known. From being seen and heard, and from having anyone recognize you for who you are, so broaden your horizon.
I fell down and the man who chased me was towering over me like a big oaf. He picked me up by the arm, looked my in the eyes and said, “You pooped in my shoe so now I am going to poop in yours.”
He took my show off of my left foot, pulled down his pants, and pooped in my shoe.
I didn’t mean to poop in his shoe. I had no where else to go.
“Okay, so what you’re going to have to do is go in the ducts, all right? Go in the ducts, attempt a back flip, continue, and then you’ll see a wall,” he said.
“Wall? In the ducts?”
“Yes, now stay with me now. So you see a wall. Look up. There will be some ducts.”
“No, ducts, dammit David, stay with me. So you see another duct, climb up the duct, and then drill a hole when you can’t climb up any farther.”
“Okay, then what?”
“Then, you get in the building, steal the cake, and leave the same way you came in.”
“All of that for a cake?”
“Of course, it’s cake.”
“My watchtower! Look what you did to it! I spent three DAYS building that.”
“Whatever,” I said. “I wanted to see how big of an explosion my dynamite would make, and your snow toy just happened to be by it.”
“I hate you.”
“It’s like a sugary, melt in your mouth kind of cake, isn’t it?” I said.
“Well, it’s TOO sugary. What’s in it?” he asked the cake baker.
“People,” he said. “Just kidding, I put powdered sugar in instead of sugar. I am not Mrs. Lovett.” He laughed.