So it's technically past a week... by a few hours.  But here's my response to the challenge:

  Something that made me pause. This Shabbos, there was a farbrengen (a gathering of souls).  One of the things said there struck me.  Within Judaism, there does exist the concept of asceticism, of self-abnegation.  There is that which is inherently holy (required), that which is inherently unholy (prohibited), and then there is that which is inherently neither.  These last are things like the internet, that are permitted, and one can choose to use them for either holy or unholy purposes. 

 There is a certain, optional, high level of service in Judaism in which people deny themselves (or greatly reduce the amount of use of) that which is permitted.  In some yeshivas (Jewish learning schools), it is in vogue to practice this.  For instance, to not use condiments on food, such that the sole purpose of the food is its nutrition, and not its taste.

However, one of the people at the farbrengen said in the name of one of his teachers (note that I'm paraphrasing) , that while not putting condiments on your food is fine and all, the real self-abnegation is going to bed on time so you can be well-rested for classes.

this is my attempt at writing a very boring poem. i tried my hardest to make it boring, using passive voice, crappy verbs, adjectives, etc.

a note on the title: according to Merriam-Webster, "mean" can be defined as 1) humble or 2) characterized by petty selfishness or malice, which I think illustrates an interesting contrast between Ben and my roommate.... but i guess boring things can't be interesting, so just think of the title one-dimensionally. cool. thanks.

 

 

Mean 

 

my roommate
has been hiding
a cat in her closet, confined,
for the past two weeks

it was a stray
but our friend Alea
named it Filibuster
and was caring for it

my roommate
had decided
that even though
she already told me
and our other roommate
we couldn't have pets,
she would steal one for herself

so Ben
had written a note
and put it on my roommate's door
when he was over yesterday
that said
"We want Filibuster back!
-The Winchester"

but Ben
had decided
to take it down
because he thought it was mean

**So I wrote this in response to the new challenge and it ended up being....not boring....just kind of about boredom...but I tried.  And that's what counts. **

 

It was Thursday.  Again.  Mrs. Moon turned over in her bed, reached for the alarm clock and pressed “snooze”.  She hated Thursdays.  She hated them not because they were full of pointless tasks or meetings, but because they were exactly the opposite.  Thursdays were the days when she felt the loneliest.  They were the quiet days.  The ones where she had nothing to do and nowhere to be.  It was as if every Thursday the world just forgot that she existed, kept turning without her.  No one even called on Thursdays.  The only voices she heard all day were the animated yet vapid voices of the once famous stars selling exercise equipment and cheap jewelry on QVC.  QVC was the only channel she could receive since she lost the remote.  She liked it better when it would rain and the staccato pitter patter on the roof would drown out the false warmth of their voices and Mrs. Moon would imagine the women on the TV caught in the rain.  These women were full of false sunshine, she would think.  As if they had never experienced rain or clouds or sadness.  When she didn’t have to hear their cheery tones she would just watch their faces glowing into her living room, illuminating her world with their rays of false hope and fake diamonds.  Mrs. Moon turned off the television.  For that was all that she could do.  It wasn’t raining this Thursday and Mrs. Moon just couldn’t listen to their joy, false or otherwise.  She heard the familiar zap as her television went into hibernation and the low buzzing it made as it slowly disconnected.  As the energy left the TV, it was as if the energy left the room. It darkened and Mrs. Moon was alone again.  The way it should be.  The velveteen couch she had moved to from her bed was worn away in patches, leaving the scratchy plastic lining that felt like sand paper to the touch.  She brushed her fingers over the patches, tracing them, continuing the couch’s disintegration that she had started so many Thursdays ago.  The patches were like a map of her boredom and despair.  They were the road her fingers walked that her feet could not take.  And so she sat on this Thursday as she did on every Thursday, brushing her hands over the couch she had bought from Suzanne Somers on QVC, in a room full of exercise balls, fringe shawls, and crystal vases, and she breathed in the sadness that she knew Ms. Somers would never have to feel.    Rain or shine.

 

3 & 1/2 years

Nearly excised;

A feigned thrust

Cleaves neuron paths

Irrevocably;

The phantom brain rattles

Because there is no Trust to submerge it in -

I twisted a valve slightly

And let it drain for two weeks.

3 & 1/2 years revealed

In an instant;

When your embrace cracked my spine

Cell memory erupted,

And so I yielded to the reveries

Willingly.

I am going to post links to the previous poems in this series for your viewing pleasure: 

Poem I: From Mine

 See the fruits of my labor by pressing

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I intended to write seven reviews, but will now write seven poems. I am simply drawn to the latter option more.

The seven poems will share a common theme but are inspired by different people.

So here is the first one.

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You can find his challenge in the comment section of my second post here . Click "Read More" to read my response. Next up is a challenge posed by Matt Goslar. Apparently I have to write seven somethings, anything that I want to. Keep the challenges coming people!

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