the washing machines in Hill aren’t working. the washing machines in Hill are never working. you make a pentagram out of cigarettes and sacrifice some acorns and a vial of your tears. your clothes are clean, but not for long.
the one boy in your philosophy seminar says, “I just don’t get why feminists have to be so aggressive.” his eyes roll back in his head and he levitates from his seat. you, and everyone else, begin pounding your fists on the table, chanting, DISCOURSE DISCOURSE DISCOURSE DISCOURSE DISCOURSE DISCOURSE
you check your email. the meeting is in Miller Lecture Hall. you check your email. the meeting is in Reisinger. you shudder as your soul splits from your body so you can go to both.
you accidentally walk into the Spiritual Space. rows of people in hooded cloaks kneel around a single candle. with shaking hands, you lift your camera and take a photo. they hiss at you, Why? horrified, you whisper, aesthetic.
your RA went abroad this semester. your new RA is younger than you. he doesn’t speak English. he doesn’t speak at all. he decorates the hall in posters of eyes. they follow you when you leave.
you get in the elevator on the 6th floor of Hill and press the button for the lobby. it stops on 5, no one is there. it stops on 4, no one is there. it stops on 3, no one is there. it stops on 2, no one is there. it stops on 1, no one is there. it stops on 2, no one is there. it stops on 3, no one is there. it stops on 4, no one is there. it stops on 5, no one is there. it stops on 6, no one is there. it stops on 5
you swipe your card. you swipe your card. you swipe your card. you watch your meal money dwindle away. you’re frozen in place. you can’t stop swiping. you are so hungry.
they’re having a séance in the library. you would go, but your roommate promised to pierce your septum tonight, and it has to be tonight. they need your blood for their performance art piece.
your Don needs to sign your Alt Registration form. when you find him, his eyes are inky black, and he signs his name in runes. he has seen things you have only known in your nightmares.
Karen Lawrence is a hologram.
you’re running late to group conference, paralyzed with dread. it is your turn to be sacrificed.
that one guy from your FYS found you on Tinder. his bio includes a quote from The Dark Knight. his interests are listed as recording his own podcast, dark magic, and vaping.
you suspect your roommate’s partner may be a lizard person. they are a vegan, always barefoot, and you swear you’ve seen them lick their own eyeball before.
there will be a party in the Blue Room tonight. there will be a murder in the Blue Room tonight.
the Theatre Thirds are a cult. they are always singing, and they leave the Cannon late at night with strange tattoos on their bodies. when you ask about them, they smile, baring their rows of sharp teeth, and disappear into the mist.
you ate lunch on the Yoko once. you came back different.
you chop off your left hand and place it in your professor’s mailbox. she gives you a glowing evaluation.
there will be free pizza in Heimbold. by “free” they mean, free your soul from this waking hellscape, eat pizza, embrace death.
you call Westlands Desk to ask about the shuttle. It’s on its way, they tell you. it’s always on its way.
protest the administration. protest tuition. protest education. protest breathing. protest existence. protest the void.
gamechangershow
gracieabrams
turnnoffyourmind
yousharknotpass
vaporwave
jimmyeatworldofficial
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
kianamaiart
