Thursday, May 14, 2009

When it Really Counts...

“I’m killing just to kill, not for a cause, not because I was bullied, just to kill.”

Imagine the contemplative struggle warring in his final moments alive. In this dark place, there is no doubt whether he won his final battle.

All the supporting cast of Tom Kane gave him the best of guidance. His struggles, derivative of many unknowns, are now in the open to everyone. Some say the details should have never been released; some have become terrified from his apparent intentions. Hard as this may be for many to understand, admiration is demanded from his final inherent goodness and compassion, and I wish for his parents and everyone else who shaped Tom to know that as tragic as it all is, there is due pride to be taken from your loved one.

Tom was a wrestler; I didn’t know him during my time at the academy.

When I was younger my friend, Kyle whom lived across the street from me, was a top national wrestler. His dad once told me, “I like sports, but wrestling is definitely the best. In most sports, you can have your best day and still lose. It’s not like that in wrestling. Sure you are part of a team and there’s a point system, but really, it’s just you and the other guy.”

Whoever was in control that day, his mind was already made up before arriving—death was a certainty.

Michael Jordan, Tiger Woods, Mark Messier, Joe Namath. Tune into a playoff series, listen to commentated highlights, all marvel at clutch performances. The regular season doesn’t matter if you can’t get past the first round. In the final seconds can you win a faceoff? How about sinking a pair of free-throws to seal off your opponent?

Now, something has set you to take away life, and it’s pushing for multiple.

Visualize your highest point of tension in the past. This doesn’t compare.

That day in the bathroom, pacing, Tom went to war. Him versus an unknown. Call it a disease, dementia, twisted thinking; no one can ever say exactly what it was; all we know is the result.
His opposition seemed set on an even greater tragedy, evident in the words pre-written, found in the aftermath.

In his darkest day, it was him versus unknown.

When it really counted, Tom won.

Friday, May 8, 2009

Best courtyard on campus


This is a yard boxed in by the Physics, Bio, Chemistry, and Performing Arts Center buildings. And it's really nice.

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

Old poem found

I found this poem looking through my manbook earlier.

I fully anticipate posting some prose, but that always takes way longer for me to finish and this was just there, ready to go.

Small life, same idea

I was collected in a little jar
with dirt and muck and seaweed.
And at first I couldn't see out the jar
but after a short period everything settled
and I could see out the jar again.
Of course this wasn't permanent
and a big hand came out of nowhere
and shook up the jar into a maelstrom
of squalid matter clouding my vision.
I wanted to die, it was almost unbearable
but, like when I was first collected
the contents eventually settled, except
this time there was no seaweed;
it had been compacted under the muck.
As the jar would get dark I'd rest
and in the light I'd awaken to my
empty jar with brown coating the base.
Dark and then light, and after the dark
small green sprouts began to poke
through the brownness.
Light then dark, light then dark
until finally full seaweed stood tall
greener than the first had ever been.