Blogs from the Dead

Rejection

Rojelio held the letter in his hands and knew. In terms of college acceptance letters, good things do not come in small packages. The lightness of the envelope was in inverse proportion to how heavy it weighed in his heart. He handed the envelope to his father Ernesto, who couldn't read English per se but could enunciate it. Ernest slowly read, "We tank u fo your interes in r uni veersity but regre to infor u that..." Regret is the only word in his mind; he doesn't need to hear the rest. The weight of these words pull him down.

My Mental Meltdown

Thoughts race faster than I can capture. I pace back and forth. So this is it. My path ends here. I feel light, as if someone had just punched my glass jaw. I pace and want to sit but can't. I picture myself standing under a cherry blossom tree in Kyoto. The white snow covered ground is speckled with my blood. The blade in my hand is slowly slipping. My knees feel like weights that bring me down. I go into my room and begin to compose a letter.

Musings

I. Dream Letter

To Whom It May Concern:

What the fuck? What the fuck! How the hell can you reject someone that graduated with distinction from a tier one school? And what about all the service I did? Note that it was both academic and community based? I fringing incorporated service-learning into my classes, damn it. What the hell?!? Did you happen to forget how to read? Did my references not get to you in time?

Sincerely,

The best thing you idiots ever passed up.

II. Actual Letter

To Whom It May Concern:

I would like to thank you for your consideration of my application for graduate studies in your department. Since I am applying to other school, I would appreciate it if you would help me with understanding some of the weaknesses in my application/presentation. I felt that I was a strong candidate for acceptance at your university and was a bit confused by your rejection.

Sincerely,

Rogelio Perales

Aftermath

Rogelio gave himself one week. He scrambled to the local colleges and asked if they were still accepting applications. The idea of stopping here is tempting. With a MA, he could get respectable work.

Zombie Haiku#1

Crimson leaves flutter
rotting flesh still walks on earth
our autumn begins

Viva la muerte

Focus. Think back. Way Back.
There's a wall there.
Blocking your thoughts.
Blocking the path.

But there is a way.
Forget the words.
Clear them out of mind.
Let them wash away with the past.

Think back.
Before our fall into language.
Before light and darkness were
separated by our tongues.
Think back to that time
when all was one
when we were in the womb of existence.
Relish in its warmth.

Now change directions.
Go forward.
Beyond now
and tomorrow
go beyond yourself
beyond the day
when the sun expands
and embraces the earth.

Keep going.
Beyond cosmic expansion.
Past universal heat death.
Beyond everything.
Beyond the end and
back to the beginning.

Focus. Look around
You exist at all these points
and at all these times.

We are not merely of the stuff of stars
we are them
as they are us.

I.

I don't know how long I've been trying to get to her. I have been walking up Interstate 95 northbound this whole time. I remember waking up in Miami and deciding to return to her. The air was as thick as the water that engulfed the city. My family slivered to me and told me it was futile. That no one returns north. I sat at the table and said that Aeneas had, that Odysseus had, and that Dante had. They just chewed on their moldy bread. My great-grandfather said that all those people were fictional. I said that that didn't matter because so were we.

II. "There's got to be a way back," I said while eating with a group of friends. "Shit," Pedro said, "how long have we been here." "It doesn't matter," I replied. "What year is this?" Marcos asked. "That matters even less," I muttered.

III. Aristos said that he had an uncle whose cousin made it back up north. The trip back took ages he said. "So this guy up and decides to go back one day because he's sick of this empty sun and barren moon. He hated his cardboard city full of forgotten celebrities and incarerated tourists," he continued. There is a process, a pattern. There was some mention of a special visa that can only be stamped at a precise hour. There was also the need for blood. Always with the blood, which is impossible to get these days with the embargo and all that. Then it hit me. "What about I-95?" I asked. Aristo's fuzzy left eyebrow went up. "It's closed to vehicles," he noted. "But not to pedestrians," I replied. "Who the hell walks on the expressway?" he shot back. "Exactly," I said as I mentally began to pack.

IV. There is a path back there. You have to walk south through the silence. You have to lash yourselve to a make-shift raft make the the rubber substance of the souls of your ancestors. You need to fill a crytal jar full of the tears you cried when your hopes were lost that night under the dwindling stars. You must drift away for a thousand years. You will get there only when you can see yourself on the shore looking out at your past.