All Things Must Pass

 So why not go for a turkey? I think I shall and make another Beatles' reference for the third time. So let the spotlight be on George Harrison this time. The title alludes to his second album, and song of the same name. Harrison's concept seems to be fitting and all, since school is ending and whatnot. Okay cool, a whole tale about freshman year at a community college. Eh, not quite.

 Then comes Friday morning. I didn't see the body, but I heard he was found laying in the ditch. I like to think that it was in the same way as Edgar Allan Poe; not sure why I found this to be better. Probably, because it has this mystery to it all. Didn't really intend it be an ode, but yeah...

For the body was of a cat, but not just a cat. It was my cat, Wilson. He was the subject of some tweets, and the butt of jokes. He was also made the subject of a photo, of him being naughty. By the way, this happened to win over my photography class for some reason? He was inquisitive to the nth degree, when it came to things such as a faucets, water, carrying his toy hedgehog, licking eyebrows, sleeping next to sewing machines, playing with scissors and among other subjects.

Sure he sucked at being a cat, especially a lap cat. In fact he was probably more of a dog than a cat. Okay, he purred and slept everywhere, but he would play fetch and needed someone to let him out, to relieve himself as well as “kitty things.” He had suffered from “pinchy-eye syndrome,”and hadn't mastered the concept of glass (I teased him with shoe laces from the other side). He had the uncanny ability to just appear. I mean, one could just look out window and there would be nothing there, and look away. Not even moments would pass, and one could look back there he would be standing (either wanting to be let in or at least to observe those in the room). He mastered the the ability to tap on the glass, so we would know: “oh, you want to be let in.”

Then it hit me (at 11), he won't be there. Not there, not ever. No more playing with the balusters. I now must re-learn not to wander into the back room, looking to see if he's sleeping by the sewing machine. So niyawh^[1]...

And for some strange reason, unknown to me, “I Shall Be Released” had a ringing echo in my head- well at least the opening line, over and over that day: “they say ev’rything can be replaced.” I call bullshit on that. Either it be towards Dylan or “They.” I continued the day as normal and finished mowing the lawn (elsewhere) for someone that's in need of their lawn being mowed. I started with the lane, for the lane goes back into the woods, and ends at a creek. It's a pretty good stretch.

Anyways, off in the distance there was a shadowy figure, similar looking to that famous hoax. I had gotten closer and saw that it was a goose. Okay big whoop? [UW-]Sheboygan usually has geese at the entrance, whether they're walking near the road or on the road. The goose I was watching had eventually flown away and regrouped with a posse of geese of in the nearest field over yonder. I got closer to the creek where more geese emerged. Some were adults, and there were little fuzzy ones. Weird to describe something with features as fuzzy. I guess I didn't like, that I disturbed their own Walden. That's if geese can have that.

Second time down the road another one walked out of the field. This one had quite the personality, for the way it waddled down the lane was like some old queen that once had the time of his life, but now it's far over. Surprisingly, the goose actually stood his ground for quite some time before he fled. More or less, I was just taking in the now, while listening to Mumford & Sons and having an Astral Weeks moment.

Still, overall the first year wasn't quite the same as NBC's Community (“six seasons and a movie”), though I had learned about rhetoric, and I'm pretty sure that's always a useful tool. Got some pretty sweet pieces of art, that I actually like, done (not to mention I saw a nude lady, oh boy). Met some pretty cool people, who really helped shape this first year, and had many good times at lunch. And I thank them for that. Though, on the downside, most, if not all, are sophomores and won't be returning for next year. Going off to bigger and better. I even met an awesome person in art who likes probably the coolest music out there and had gotten me back into the White Stripes. He had even given me some vinyl rips of the White Stripes and the Raconteurs, only exclusively released on vinyl. There was even a countdown for the release of Blunderbuss. In return, Junior Kimbrough and a Jack White bootleg. Then comes the downside that he's a sophomore and won't be returning next year.

 I suppose that's one way to end freshman year.

 [1] A word that grandma uses quite a bit. It's basically a “sentence/idea ending” type word. It could possibly mean: “moving on” or in some form of agreement. Well at least that's what Rachel and I have concluded.

“I've Got Blisters on Me Fingers!”

If the title (or the artwork) doesn't give away the who's and what's about this, make note that the title does allude to Ringo, after along day of being Ringo (which is basically equivalent to 1/32nd of being Paul McCartney. I’m not too sure if that's legit conversion, just a shot in the dark). Anyways, not to worry, there aren't any descriptive details of oozing blisters and such thing along those lines, because that's just gross.

It's more of a funny story… well, maybe not a funny story, but a real puzzler of a tale. On the morn of Tuesday, I had woken up with blisters upon my fingers. Oh boy. Not too sure what I was doing that made them appear. Especially the ones on my left hand, seeing as a certain string should've help to callous them over. It's just pretty odd and whatnot. Eventually I had ignored them for the day.

There’s nothing like a good art story. During class later that day, I was “drawing,” having “fun” with oil stick. Oil stick is used to mark cows and sometimes draw, but I don't think the cow would appreciate that. It's like using a wet sidewalk caulk, basically. Still weird, drawing on cows. The goal is to draw something from life, which is easier said than done. And on a personal level, I'm digging how this drawing is turning out compared the to the last oil stick I did. Not going to brag, but I got some pretty sweet tooth growing on it.

Of course, after using these oil sticks one's hands can become quite messy, and I don't really want to make more messes elsewhere, so why not clean them? Remember by this time I had forgotten about them. What could go wrong? One does have to scrubbed to get the oil off- it's essentially like paint. And in the processes of the doing that, I had torn one of them. And a couple other things happened. I guess the main point of the matter that I would like to get across was that it hurt, simply.