This piece is a part of the OneFiveHundred series. Read the mission statement here. i: CRASH You wake up to the first day of the rest of your life. Your Google Calendar looks like Rothko’s Color Fields. Something in you might hurt a bit as you scrape yourself out of bed: sore back, abdominal ache, jaw clenched too tightly, inch-long scrape in the vertebrae, pinch-sized wound in the underbelly[1]. You…

OneFiveHundred Mission Statement  0: three lines I consider “Special Registration in MECH 340” a prose poem of sorts, better than most of the poetry I’ve written.  I remember reading the email for the first time on Fizz, (an anonymous posting platform), and bursting out laughing. It’s really a diamond in the rough, as Fizz frequently consists of students bemoaning their classes or commenting irreverently about life events (as they should).…

There are things too large for us to handle. There are things that overwhelm us. There are things that can take us away, break us, twist us, keep us alive. There are things in this world that need to be done and aren’t, things that shouldn’t be done and are. There are worlds within our world that are incorrigibly plural, there are worlds born dead and still living. What I…