Capturing Campus: Dying Ritual

Content warning: Suicide

Dying Ritual

Put on shoes—your best ones–or regular ones; tie them tight for white toes and pink ankles; start walking; walk with purpose, on a time crunch to nowhere; cross the street; watch for cars; don’t trip; remember not to trip; not tripping is important; round the corner at the stop sign; there’s a bird on a wire; don’t stare because that would be rude; keep walking; another turn; do you remember where you’re going; reach the gate; bend your spine; duck beneath; don’t let a car snag your side; up the elevator; press down; top floor; wait a moment; think of nothing in particular; wait some more; the doors shutter open; step onto the roof; find the courage; take a step; remember your shoes are tied; take another step; look at a bird, which could be the old one but isn’t; take a large step; how would one know if it is the same bird; take a larger one; step step step onto the ledge; is anybody watching; watch the bird that hasn’t budged; move an inch, a couple more; how many centimeters is an inch; the wind is cold; breathe a breath; make it good; don’t go slowly; say a prayer; don’t go slowly; don’t look down; but do; should you look down; is that what people do; look down and fall—or don’t; you’ll see it through tomorrow.

aSoSS 40 | Leeway

…and she responds, and doesn’t get weird, or defensive, like you.

[mouth agape]

Yeah, yeah, it’s okay. Me too.

Trader Joe’s, 12:00PM, 11/24/2024

every shipman is aware of the dangers of slack, a knife of potential cutting across the air. and yet we have tiptoed around the topic for too long, each of us too scared to wake the current and lose the line. like a cruel childhood game–whoever moves first loses!–your hands are at your mouth and i am on one knee (as if to tie a shoe, i tell you, but really, do you believe that?) and the moment is frozen in a dream, so vivid a memory could not do it justice. the orange is left to spoil on the counter, unpeeled, unsplit. pure and perforated and rotten, at the same time, in all the wrong places.


If you don’t like it, you just hand it to Eileen, be like “cool, now you have two!”

Food Mart, 12:00PM, 12/26/2024

the vice of the human condition is the systematic approach to an unstructured life. you have been tasked with falling in love: go and sit on the bus and hold eye contact and brush the snow out of her hair. a look of surprise overwhelms you. even the most artistic are drawn to scientific conclusions, eliminating every variable at once. everything must go to plan or else it is not the plan at all. a senior thesis: is it, or is it not? the numbers quiver in their sockets.

when you board, the bus is empty, the driver wears sunglasses, and all the snow has melted.


That’s my job, and yeah, you and I have to stick to it because we’ve been way too accommodating!

Traverwood Library, 5:00PM, 1/14/2025

the tap water runs clear and straight–an ominous sign. it was the vietnamese activist Duong Thu Huong who wrote there’s no river without a bend just as there’s no life without its unhappiness. i look around; the room is littered with peanut shells. i am an elephant with a blanket on its back and the room is nothing more than a cage. outside, panem et circenses. the carnival band starts to play and the world is filled with all the notes of an obituary.

Capturing Campus: Washing Ritual

Content warning: Obsessive compulsive behavior, gore

Washing Ritual

Close the door; lock it for privacy; check again, for privacy; remember to breathe; turn the faucet; let the water pour pour pour into the basin; watch the steam build up; pump the soap; press down one, two, three; like a cloud; scrub the palms and the wrists; the palms again; get the fingers: three, four, five; the frog webs or minor syndactyly—it must be one of the two: three, four, five; dig in the groves and under the fingernails that don’t have dirt under them but maybe they do, they always could: one, two, three, four, five; move to the left hand; one, two, three, four, five; one, two, three, four, five; one, two, three, four—the water should be scalding, just enough to blister, but not enough to regret; scrub hard, scrub very hard; scrape at the holes and the raw patches; rub away the fine lines, the creases, the folds in the flesh; keep going; the blisters will go away in an hour or two—maybe three; another pump: one, two, three; again—the right hand; the left hand; keep going; don’t stop; it burns because it’s working

aSoSS 39 | Suspicion

I never know the next time I’ll see you.

I’m always at home.

By the time I come home it’s 2AM!

Well, I’m probably awake…

Weiser Hall, 3:30PM, 10/19/2024

for Edgar Allan Poe, remoteness is a necessary ingredient of literature. we must detach ourselves from reality in order to best portray it. Muñoz Molina writes that he lives through the death of a beautiful cigar girl. He writes a story in which Mary Rogers becomes Marie Rogêt, substituting Paris for Jersey City and the Seine for the Hudson. like an outsider swiveling a telescope, sweeping the curtain aside, peering into the void of human nature from the neighbor’s window. her murder, of course, is never solved.

the cold is a sedative, the snow a sterilizer. you are across the world and only now do i dare to loosen my tongue. i brush your name onto the paper as i once did to the tears across your cheek.


Registering for classes now is wild. Go inside, they have more wifi inside than outside.

More wifi?

Pierpont Commons Outbound, 11:30AM, 12/6/2024

hey, it’s me. yeah, it’s been a long time, huh? i just got your letter, the mailman told me it was a miracle the machine could read it. he said you have the worst handwriting he’s ever seen, haha. there are just piles and piles of stuff in the back of the room that they just can’t send. can you imagine that? terabytes of information is just lost in transit, as if it had never existed in the first place. isn’t that crazy?

hello? is anyone there?


[holding a plate of cucumbers, hummus, and peppers] I like to get creative with my meals.

Yeah, I guess you could call that a meal…

East Quad Dining Hall, 5:00PM, 1/7/2025

the act of eating with someone is perhaps the quickest way to rewire the neurons. do you think our brains misattribute this relief of hunger? your fork vibrates, ever so slightly, attuned to the heartbeat pulsing through your fingertips. there are things we are not in control of and this is one of them. once bitten and twice shy, why do you keep your distance? the stomach rattles its chains.

Capturing Campus: Feeding Ritual

Content warning: Eating disorders, binge eating, rituals

Feeding Ritual

Keep the food in the fridge and out of your mouth; disregard the growling; don’t consider the taste; come up with guidelines to follow to a T; that means no chips, no bagels, no pasta, no pretzels, no fried foods, no Diet Coke, no fatty meats, no butter on toast, no ice cream, no cone for the ice cream, no school lunches, no holiday dinners, no Krispy Kreme donuts (that one is important); bread is a trap; chocolate is a lie; don’t drink your calories; eat exactly half your meal; turn down the offer; it’s Halloween: too bad; it’s Christmas: He starved or bled to death (one of the two); it’s best not to consider the feeling of fullness; run to feel better; run until your legs burn; run until long after your legs burn; move at a crawl because your legs burn; don’t lose control; people are good at spotting those things; but search the cupboards and fridge anyway; grab something, anything, everything; don’t stop for air; keep shoveling, and it’s all well and fine; eat until the world has turned upside down; feel embarrassed; feel hateful; feel envious of prior bodies, of other bodies; be out of control; be angry; be ugly and spiteful at the world which births and suffocates; be proud of the mess; deny it all; keep killing yourself; don’t stop.

aSoSS 38 | Markdown

Oh yeah, how was your birthday?

It was nice.

How old are you turning, 17? Hmm, something’s not adding up!

EECS Building. 3:30PM, 11/21/2024

it has been one year but not quite one birthday. the ball drops. you used to think it would shatter, that the people in the square would be pelted with shards of glass, the previous year burrowing into skin as a final act of rebellion. now i think it is not too far from reality, that the more we celebrate, the more of the self we sacrifice. i tear off the last page of the calendar and notice a message carved into the cardboard backing. you made it! perhaps not everything requires a celebration, but today is an exception.


[pointing to price tags] five, five forty, five forty-five… nothing is cheap!

NCRC Building 20, 4:00PM, 11/19/2024

red circles around black squares, a day to be dreaded either forwards or backwards: either living in fear of it, or looking back and mourning the wisdom gained with hindsight. a markdown on the quality of life, some would say. humans are creatures of structure. we are not beavers, we do not need to live our lives regulating the currents of space, stemming the flow of time. and yet we construct our own complacency. we convince ourselves that our habits pass for our happiness. the red circles have been relegated to excess inventory, to clearance–cash in on the memory today or risk losing it forever. the price to pay? you must tell your story.


They have price tags under their tags that are cheaper…

They’ve gotta pay rent.

We’re not helping!

Rally House, 8:30AM, 11/29/2024

telling a true story is impossible. it is deceptive, the folds of detail stored and scrambled, this perverse act of remembering. in reality, remembering is the easy part; stripping the petal from the stamen, sterilizing the thought so it does not reproduce, is much harder. any emotion associated with an action is boiled away, a chrysanthemum tea prepared for the hanged man–a scribe, tasked with an unbiased account of the emperor, a death sentence in this life and the next. tomorrow I will waste another hour regretting yesterday, whispers the man. a wisdom, distilled in blood, paid for in sanity.