Outside I am a crusty broken down bag of bones covered in wasting compostable organic matter seasoned with a variety of toxic and / or inert chemicals my lifetime on this planet has exposed me to or I have ingested willingly.
/╲/\╭(•‿•)╮/\╱\
But in my latibule I am a sleek deep purple polyhedron with ultra smooth sides meeting at multiple pleasingly beveled edges; all while plugged into the ether with my zircon encrusted umbilicus to communicate directly to proximity friendly receptive minds. It’s dark, cool, and immutably implausible in here, yet here I am.
While forest bathing might be good for you, is showering your being with nefarious negative ions? Fear not. Negative ions are good for you too. Allegedly.
I have been urban bathing most of my life, except for a decade and a half residing in a more bucolic setting. Now I found that a bit too narrow of a bandwidth experience. In other words, I found my GASAN was not as rich out over yonder as the everything, everywhere, all at once particle flow of urban bathing. So I got my butt back to the city where I belong. Don’t get me wrong. I still enjoy a good negative ion pummeling from time to time in small doses. I get that molecular abuse when visiting the more pastoral settings that my city and my suburbs have on offer.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
So you can keep your negative ions because I much prefer doin’ the ….
My Advice
Take an electron. Leave an electron. But keep your filthy protons to yourself
As the sun rises over the lake’s horizon I reflect upon all that has been all that will be and all that I perceive as happening right now in the moment as the big ball off fire in the east pulls itself lazily out of the big lake that is the eastern boundary of my present domicile where I have lived most of my life except for the brief sixteen years when I lived on the southern tip of the big a lake and the sun would rise to my right and set to the left of me causing me much directional disorientation with the lake being to my north rather than to the east where it belongs when I make my Saturday morning run-on sentence along Lake MIchigan.
In the third quarter of the last century I attended high school in this historic edifice. I know I did not appreciate it’s elegance and grandeur in my tender years. After all, back then I knew everything. So I did my four and out quick like a bunny with nary a peek around. The murals I remember. The building a puzzle. But the one section of the building that should not be spoken of was, 🎶bum bum bum🎶 The Triangle.
Much has been written about the original main building. The much ballyhooed wing additions. The murals are exquisite. The 21st Century renovation sublime. Yet through my perfunctory research I found no mention of The Triangle. That’s because even back then there were rules about The Triangle:
1 You Do Not Talk About The Triangle …
2 You Do NOT Talk About The Triangle …
Whispers of Freshmen going in and never coming out. I know for a fact there were rooms in The Triangle that you had to go to the third floor, then down to the first, then up to the second to find. In other words, there was no good way to get there from here. Who added The Triangle? Ancient alien theorists have their theories. But I have Proof!
Attention Triangle Abductees Anonymous. I suspect alien hybrid experimentation with the alien construct D.N.A., because there is an alleged twin school on the south side of Chicago called Bowen High School and …
Once upon a time, being a googly eyed romantic at heart, I might have drafted such an earnest and honest letter in cursive; while taking into account all the changes in societal norms and expectations. But now all it takes is a text,
“U up?”
(ironic punctuation added as a nod to past formalities, but by no means current common practice amongst today’s texters )
Direct and to the point. Surprisingly successful as well.
