victor's dream

A response to Frankenstein

What nightmares cling, with such barbaric freedom,
Upon the immortal spirit! In gloomy state,
What thoughts do climb the passions,
The fevered mind of slaves! Whose blood should leap,
Gnashing and cursing, in his veins?
Heart so unwilling! Do you seek the darkness?
What thoughts then may seem to creep
It’s treacherous slope, it’s river’s listless sweep,
Raging in mockery! In gloom,
What thoughts speak to the miserable! Extinguished,
Joyous dreams—what monstrous terrors
Does the creator see? In fevered treachery
He has poisoned the darkening sleep—
Let he his nightmares keep.

This is a public service announcement!

To residents and visitors of Wrigleyville:

Warning!

When in this neighborhood, be on your guard! You may get egged!

If you are egged, it will get on your coat, on your shoes, in your bag, in your purse, on your lunch, and you will even find it on your homework the next day!

Citizens should be on the lookout for douchebags in cars throwing eggs at pedestrians.

Pedestrians are advised to take pre-emptive measures. Wear egg-proof clothing at all times and carry a metal bat for bashing in their windshield.

Please keep our northern districts douche-free!


This has been a public service announcement for the city of Chicago.




(True story. It happened to Emily.)

Of Mice and Me

The mouse fiasco has come to a gruesome end. Both sides suffered heavy casualites. In the end, one mouse and four muffins were sent to the great garbage can outside.

In case you didn't know about the mouse fiasco, there was one.

It started like a bad monster thriller, strange scrabbling noises in the walls late at night while I'm home alone. It's unpleasant to wake up to something moving in your room but not in your room, and sounding like a troop of dire rats.

Then, first contact. After a post-class nap, went out into the kitchen (by now evening; again, home alone). That pot just moved! Turned on the light just in time to see the back end of a mouse escaping under a stove burner.

"Ennnngh, shit!"

It's several minutes before I can work up the courage to clean the counters. The next day the landlord brings over four traps, sets them under the cabinets. Several hours later, I return to the kitchen...

"I'll be around today to get rid of it, but tomorrow I'm leaving for the weekend so you'll have to take care of it yourself," he had told me.
"Oh, I'm sure I can buck up and throw out a dead mouse," I had laughed.

How naieve of me!

There, poking out from under the counter, is one long stringy mouse tail.

My heart is pounding. I know it's dead, but as I lean down just to double-check, every part of me is wishing that I don't discover the rest of a dead mouse attached. I get as far as visual contact with the back legs and straighten up quickly.

The kitchen has become a place of fear. Mice crawling on the stove! Dead mice unpolitely sticking out from under the cabinets!

It's very clear that I certainly can not get rid of a dead mouse. The landlord says he won't be over until the morning.

I tread nervously down the very middle of the isle as I microwave my dinner. What am I afraid of? It's not like the thing's going to resurrect, grab my ankles, and pull me under into a terrible void of mousey hell-torture, right?

Right?


This morning, my fearless landlord picks up the trap and mouse bare-handed.

"Oh, yeah," he says, "On the nose. It got him right across the eyes."

"I'm pretty sure I don't want to see that," I say, and turn around.

He returns with the newly-emptied trap, re-peanut-butters it, and puts it back.
"If there's one mouse, there's usually another, right?" he says.

God. Emily can take that one.

Damn, yous a gilded b****

University of Chicago, despite being South, has a solid collection of manuscripts, dating all the way back to 9th century. Even more dope, they let you touch them.