An aging mentor, in fading grace,
With wisdom etched upon his face,
He speaks of life, of love, and pain,
As time slips by, like autumn rain.

A student comes, week after week,
To listen close, to hear him speak,
Of work, and loss, and growing old,
Of tender truths, both harsh and bold.

The body weakens, fails, decays,
Yet stronger still, the heart conveys,
That wealth is found in those we love,
In ties below and hopes above.

He teaches not to chase the gold,
But seek the warmth that hands can hold,
In fleeting time, find joy and grace,
For death, in life, we all must face.

Through parting words and final breath,
He shows the way to conquer death:
In giving love, we learn to live,
And find in loss, the strength to give.


— Sincerely, Boris

bored in an ethics class


What the actual f--- is ethics?
Ethical, morality, dumb-f---ing ethics.
Ethics are odd-
So confusing-
So wrong?
But what are these ethics,
I so hope to long.

Am I a good person, won’t anyone know?
I’ll jump to my feet when you tell me
“Hell NO!”
But what are these ethics,
Do I reap what I sow?
Is that the right sentence?
oh well
This class blows.

I was diagnosed with double-pneumonia on the 15th and classes started on the 17th. I’m already getting nagmail about assignments, yea! I’ll be behind and virtual for a while. It started as a rhinovirus, honestly, I don’t even remember being around a rhinoceros, but he trampled me good. (Hmm, song title there?)

I’m feeling better today, I can read without the room spinning - heck, I even managed to write this, but a new, implacable nemesis - low-energy - is here, like Lebron James, to check me when I attempt something over ambitious, like picking up my chemistry book. At least I got to stay in my room.

My roommate Sunny’s so angry with a certain girl that she even thinks it’s hilarious. Her creative, revenge beast has been awakened and her feelings are practically colors in the air. It’s entertaining. I think if she saw her now - well, let's say Sunny takes boxing in the gym every morning. “I’m over her already,” Sunny announces, stomping around her room, trashing all reminders on contact.
Be careful out there, people - if love doesn’t get you the rhino might.
.
.
*nagmail - mail about late assignments, class papers due, surveys

I want to say something about cursive writing (this might seem random).

I’ve seen articles saying that cursive writing is a “dead art,” that computers have destined it for oblivion and questioning whether cursive writing should be taught in schools now-a-days.

But if you plan to go to college - relearn it and practice it, because you’ll need it.

Random hot fact. The first time you have to handwrite a multiple-question essay test - where each answer requires five hundred to a thousand words (a written page) - handwriting, in block letters, is unsustainable.

Your hand will literally cramp up - dog, you’ll suffer, your essays will suffer and so will your grade.

Writing in cursive is faster than block lettering and with a little practice, it’s effortless.

My sister told me this once, and this morning, as I watched other students, one third of the way into our essay test, grimacing and flexing their aching hands - I just smiled to myself.

Yeah, you can thank me later.

She:
  Do you feel life? Or do you live life?
he:
Do you fear death? Or do you live death?
She:
  I fear death. I do not live it.
he:
What you fear is what you live.
She: (few hours later)
  Why he compares life to death?
   Is he dead already?




then I unbosom few days later He is actually full of life much more like Happy Endings

Arbitrary numbers scatter her mind's surface,
Operationally stunted she scurried,
For no deviation could solve the turmoil vested within,
It was hope vested in the cosmos,
An escape adorned in constellations,
The unwinding of a student.