A Letter to an Anthropomorphic Personification (Re-post)

It's been a while since we've spoken. I won't lie; I'm not really upset about that. I was happy when we finally parted ways. That I was done with you for good.
But the truth is, sometimes I think about you. I'll see something that reminds me about you. An equation on a chalkboard, a word problem on the SAT homepage, maybe even a simple Rubix cube. I see reminders like these and I wonder what it might have been like if things had been different between us.

We never really did see eye to eye, did we? You used to confuse me with your logic, even though, deep down, I knew you were right. You were always right, and you never lied.

 I'll admit, I undervalued you. I didn't appreciate what you had to offer. I didn't see how we could have a future together.

I tried to understand you, but I just couldn't.

I'll admit, I said some things I probably shouldn't have.

Needless to say, after our stormy time together, I was glad when it was over between us.

Even though we haven't seen much of each other since then, I still sometimes feel the pull of your charms. The power you promise your companions is certainly enticing. I mean, the fact that engineers make robots and spaceships and other cool stuff like that with you is pretty neat.

But whenever I take a glance at you're work, I am reminded of why it just wouldn't work between us.

But I still greatly respect you, and those who get along well with you. But I think I'm going to spend some time with someone I understand and connect with a bit better.

Art Style

Black Fur Makes Bad Camo (Re-post)

Black Fur Makes Bad Camo
Towards the beginning of the semester, there used to live a family of cats in front of Seguin Hall. There was a mother and a bunch of babies. People liked to put food in front of the hole they lived in. I don't know exactly what happened to them. Maybe they were caught and taken somewhere else. Maybe the babies grew up and left the nest to seek out their education and make a better life for themselves. Maybe they all died.
Whatever happened to them, only one cat remains that I've seen. Maybe he couldn't get any good scholarships and he didn't want to be weighed down by student debt.

The other day, I was walking out of Seguin Hall and noticed a girl who seemed to be intently staring at something. I followed her gaze and saw the solitary black cat stalking a squirrel.
"Cool!" I thought. "Let's see some nature in action!"
It really was quite a sight. There he was, crouched and creeping silently towards the squirrel, like a lion preparing to pounce on a gazelle.
It certainly looked like this little guy thought he was a lion. However, there was one fatal flaw in his thinking.

The cat might as well have been holding up a neon sign saying "Free Murder Here!" It's black fur did nothing to conceal him. The squirrel stared straight at him.
For a while, nothing happened. I hoped that maybe the squirrel was so dumb it thought the cat was some kind of curiously shaped rock.

Or perhaps it was hypnotized by the cat's slow, smooth movements.

Unfortunately, the message finally reached the squirrels tiny brain that it should probably be concerned, so he skittered up a nearby tree.
At first, it didn't seem like the cat was fazed. It looked like it was still stalking something. On closer inspection, however, I realized the cat wasn't creeping anymore. He had subtly shifted into a lying down position. There was no bloodlust in his eyes. He looked around innocently, as if saying "What squirrel? I don't know of any squirrel. Murder? What? Me? I would never kill something so small and fluffy!"

But I knew the truth. He was defeated. He would continue to go hungry, the shame of his failure his only companion.
I started to internally blame passersby for scaring the squirrel off, but I knew that the real culprit was the cat's own black fur. "If only it were night time," I thought.
I like to think the cat eventually caught the squirrel. Perhaps he realized his weakness, and decided to use the cover of darkness as his ally. He would find that squirrel's tree, climb it, and silently and swiftly end his pathetic, furry, acorn-gathering existence.

I just realized, the head of my black cat looks like Astro Boy's head. And now I have the old Astro Boy theme song stuck in my head. Oh well, not complaining.

(Note: I don't own the character Astro Boy. He's owned by Tezuka Productions Co., Ltd. That's right, I totally looked that up. Look at me being all non-plagarizy. Definitely a word.)

Sister

El Jabón (Repost)

El Jabón

Anyone who knows me well  knows that I don't really care for swearing. This is unfortunate, since I happen to go to college, and, as I've learned QUITE well in the year and a half I've been at TLU, swearing is something college students make liberal usage of.
Whenever someone swears often, it sends certain messages to me. It says this person either A) doesn't have a good vocabulary, B) has a good vocabulary but is too lazy to use it, C) has a good vocabulary but isn't creative enough to use it, or D) is doing it because it's considered "adult" or whatever.
Now I try not to judge. I know that in today's time, society considers swearing as morally problematic as gunning down Nazis in Call of Duty.

I know my friends are kind, intelligent human beings and not mentally challenged neanderthals.

So I've had to learn to get used to swearing, and thankfully most of my friends have been really nice and watched their language around me.
One of my coping  methods is to create an alternate persona. I do this a lot. One of my favorite pastimes is daydreaming, and as a result of this I've created for myself multiple alternate personae, most of which have super powers. Because having super powers would be pretty sick.
The persona I have constructed to deal with my issues with swearing is named:

Which is Spanish for "The Soap". Because he is holding a bar of soap. And is Spanish. Not really.
El Jabón was born out of one of my mental fantasies in which I attack people who are swearing profusely by washing out their mouths with a bar of soap. El Jabón speaks with the most fancy old-fashioned English words, and has inexplicably exceptional jumping skills. He can leap unscathed onto an unsuspecting foul-mouthed villain from several feet away. It's pretty legit.
Whenever I think of El Jabón, a particular situation comes to mind. I was walking across campus over to Seguin Hall. Ahead of me was a guy and two girls. One of the girls was apparently talking about someone she didn't like very much, because she insisted on repeating the same swear word over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over again when talking about said person. This would have been the perfect opportunity for El Jabón to spring into action. The scenario would probably have played out in a way similar to this:

In real life, though, I just sort of walked behind them and kept making weird twitching expressions with my face. It made me feel a little better.
But watch your tongues, students of TLU, or risk feeling the wrath of...
El Jabón! [insert dramatic Spanish guitar strumming here]