The worm ouroboros rings the lidless eye, unblinking.
It's the customary thing to say or do
To a disappointed proud man in his grief
And on Fridays she'd be there
But on Mondays not at all
Just casually appearing from the clock across the hall“Paris 1919“, John Cale (1973); alternate performance
Friday, the 4th of September, 2026
It was early evening yesterday when I made my way to Chinatown; the oppressive heat gave way to a comparatively pleasant evening. I decided it was a red evening: red shorts and a short-sleeved red button-up, almost the same shade.
From 9th to 12th grade, I attended a small prep school in a small mountain town that only Commissioner Makhija and Tom Kline can point out on a map; my graduating class was 45 students (myself included). As with Drexel Kline, I didn’t fit neatly into any one clique; instead, I was everyone’s third- or fourth-best friend. But I was closer to some cliques than others, and the closest were the people I usually ate lunch with. Despite most of us doing undergrad in the Lehigh Valley, we largely went our separate ways after high school; the Plague and its consequences. Usually it was funerals; the deaths of Rev and Mr. Pierotti (may they rest in peace) brought some of us together in mourning, but only for a moment. I did see Kyle in the summer of 2023; we met up at the Regal Hazleton and watched Barbie (dir. Greta Gerwig).
An icon of Christ
Printed on cheap cardstock
Given at the funeral of
A Latin teacher
Who believed in me
Last November, as I was drafting my CivPro complaint in the Dragons’ Den, I found myself added to a group chat consisting of the people I ate lunch with. Months have passed, much has changed, and the paths our lives have taken have converged again in the Delaware Valley, so we’ve been working out the logistics for a reunion for some time. It was deemed prudent to split such a reunion over several days, given difficulties in scheduling. Which brings us to last night.
I made it to Dim Sum Garden before the rest and got us a table- a corner seat so that I could charge my phone. There would be four of us total. Yours truly, Cole, Wes, and Wes’ wife, Anna. Cole was in from Texas, where he’s nearly completed his PhD in nuclear engineering. Wes and Anna are in Old City. Anna’s a new addition to the circle, having met Wes in Chem at Lehigh. Both are engineers, software and mechanical, respectively. I suspect the only ones from our dining circle who ended up in the humanities are Phoebe and me.
It was Dim Sum, so of course it was good; no complaints there. They gave us a huge number of soup dumplings, far more than we expected, but we managed to finish them all. As for our entrees, they were fairly diverse, and we split them more or less evenly among ourselves. I ordered the sweet & sour spare ribs. They were excellent, and because the feast was so filling, I was able to take some back to Anova. Afterward, we collectively agreed dessert was in order, so we walked over to Mango Mango, chatting all the while. Once there, I had the layered mango snowcloud. Insofar as what’s said at lunch stays at lunch, I won’t disclose the finer points of our conversation(s) at this time. It felt good, though. I felt like myself, and I was alive.
My dreams last night were full of sound and fury, signifying nothing; I walked in shadow, and then I woke up. I woke up at the usual time, but against all odds, I walked in right as Oates was about to wish us good morning. Unlike some of my classmates, I had Evidence before the long weekend could begin. Afterward, I had a long conversation with a friend, then got some lunch. Rather than take the way I usually go, I decided on a whim to explore. Hardly anyone else was out and about. I had a song stuck in my head, which I’m unable to recall at this time (likely because it was directly from my soul), that I whistled as I walked.
Words fail to describe the feeling.
This afternoon was spent decompressing. Tomorrow, my parents are gonna clear my mom’s storage lockers. I offered to help, but they’ve more or less got it. I requested the surviving copies of my creative writing projects from when I was very young, so that I may deal with them as is proper. It is my sincere conviction that Jussie X (Weiksner, c. 2011-14) is not only a terrible novel, but the worst novel in the English language. Yes, this includes Atlanta Nights (“Tea“, 2004) and Empress Theresa (Boutin, 2013).
(Ed. Note: Considering we’re in the age of Slop™, I guess the category has to be narrowed to “worst English novel written by human hands.”)
On Sunday, I’ll be heading back to the Lehigh Valley to pick up the aforementioned documents and look for a new laptop while I’m out and about.
Saturday, the 5th of September, 2026
For your listening enjoyment. Alternate option.
I had at least three dreams last night, the first of which was the most notable. It ended with me being caught in a mass shooting, although I managed to survive. Who would have thought that a deranged schmuck who tried to spray and pray with a revolver would be bad at aiming? Or maybe I just got lucky. The other two dreams are more useful/relevant to daily life, but troubling in their implications. Not exactly nightmares in the strict sense, but ones I’ve spent most of the morning so far pondering. It’s a slow morning; I got up at the usual time, and it’s only half past 9 as I write this, and yet it feels like noon.
As I write this now, it’s just over half an hour until noon. I decided to spend my morning in the courtyard. The air was mild, pleasantly cool even, and I had a light breakfast of charcuterie. I’m still not sure what I’ll be doing today; I suppose I’ll go with whatever my gut says later. Today’s a blue day; I’m wearing my Hawaiian-adjacent shirt and blue swim shorts.
After this week, I have some thoughts. It’s fitting that I reunited with some of my high school friends; for a while, many people have been saying that law school is like High School II: Electric Boogaloo, and I wasn’t inclined to believe them at first. To my knowledge, I haven’t had beef with anyone here. Personally, I thought Moravian was High School II, especially after everyone got their minds broken by the Plague.
It’s become clear that my personal experiences here aren’t representative of the whole. I may be friendly with everyone, but that doesn’t mean everyone’s friendly to everyone else. Some of this isn’t new information; obviously, certain cliques or student orgs are opposed on ideological grounds, and some students have poor reputations (one of whom transferred to Temple and is presumably already wearing out his welcome). But underneath the surface-level politeness is apparently a pit of serpents. There’s more tea than Boston Harbor in December 1773. A lot of the drama is strikingly familiar to me, regardless. I’ve been through a lot, and I’m not as oblivious to what’s going on around me as some may think.
(Postscript: I mean, I’m personally in a good spot, so I can just vibe like I’ve been doing, I guess. Life’s been good.)
As I write this, it is almost 1 in the afternoon. The morning was slow, but the afternoon is picking up speed. I wonder if the analog clock in my closet still keeps time.
Sierpinski Tetrahedron 