390. Poem / Rant "Ideals Have Rubber Hitting the Road of Reality"

Today was ironic.

I saw my old teaching assistant Hannah in the morning
in Kostello's gathering hub
and I saw *oriel at a distance
as I entered my dose of environmental institutions

as if the day after my mind's heart was rejuvinated with hope,
I was then haunted by the re-exposure to the previous experiment
in which *oriel, Hannah, and I converged and aligned
on Decker's Deck the previous April.

And I realized I wore the same clothes I wore today
of that day of that past alignment.
Not that the probability of wearing different clothes
was very high.

Hannah analyzed me up and down
as if I had never changed in any surfacial dimension
and *oriel glanced his eyes around the room
in glossy sporadic-ness
only to prevent any form of meeting an locking of stares.

He wore an oversized, dark coat, suit, and tie.
I missed his "defense" presentation for the project
he was "over with" ever since last summer
and resisted to pursue the internship granted to him.

And then to my distaste of recollection
I still have a bag of $130 worth of clothes
affiliated with his institutions,
as he dragged me to Ross dress-for-less
and stated that real-world survival required an Image Show
as if we regressed to high school cliques
from the initial premises
of higher dimensions of shen minds.

I had to "look good."
For whom? For what purpose?
Those dxmn clothes are too late to return
and I refuse to wear them.

Dxmmit.

Lost godxm $130-something dollars.

And I have a tumor bag rotting in moisture of rain in my car trunk.

That boy--despite his lengthy age--had no sense of Reality.
And today, after opening the vulnerability of my mind's heart the day before,
this new day I felt anger all over on the way how he treated me--
and how he dropped me like a contaminated hot potato.

One day I was a human being
and the next I was a high-maintenance bacterium.
One day my mind was fascinating
and the next I was a Touch Toy.
And the next and the next and the next...
I was a Touch Toy.

And then the Touch Toy was no longer worth playing with
because he got bored with exclusivity
and exclusively tended to his project of Overwithedness
because it cost $40,000 to do it.

And so today, I felt anger, and I still feel angry.
And I have a right to feel angry.

Because I am NOT a Contaminated Hot Potato
and no one should EVER treat me like one.
And I cannot ALLOW anyone to treat me like one.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T.
Dxmmit.

I have a right to feel anger.
I have a right to be angry.
I have a right to report to Johnny of my lessons learned.

I mean *oriel was a most fascinating spirit, full of ideal principles,
but over time of interaction,
as the onion peeled, as all onions do peel
the principles marginally-to-never seemed to match reality...
in practice...
in life pursuits....

In the end, his *orielian spirit of seeming boundlessness was worth it
but the rest of imprisoned physicality can be tossed in the trash.

He is an orphan
because he chose to be an orphan.

When I am foraging for inspiration,
I need everything aligned--everything--
I need to be surrounded by people
who's ideals have rubber hitting the road of reality.

And I need a track record of it.

But as with all else,
*oriel was a first experiment
and you extract all positive, pragmatic gadgets
amidst the City Dump of Stench.

Johnny?