Weekly Skylights: The Tripod Looks to the Clouds (Mar. 16)

3 min read

Joey Cifelli ’23

A&E Editor

March 8, 2021. Courtesy of Joey Cifelli ’23.

If you’re anything like me, you’ve long had a desire to dig a really, really big hole at some point in your life. And if so, you probably also find yourself unable to say why exactly this need sticks around in your head, sometimes fading into the background for months, years, even, only to inevitable resurface stronger than ever. What is that, right? I should clarify that by a really big hole I’m more specifically referring to a really deep hole, which are infinitely more interesting. The farthest I ever got in fulfilling this desire was about three feet into the middle of my Dad’s garden. It felt great, but hardly satisfying. I do not think we’ll truly be satisfied until someone digs through the entire planet, core and all. That person will be a legend. And, after it’s done, we can drop in random crap lying around the house and watch it slowly fade away, which is all any of us ever really wanted. 9.0/10.

March 9, 2021. Courtesy of Joey Cifelli ’23.

Sitting at my desk I can hear the wind howling outside. There’s nothing quite so suited to safety and comfort as tempestuous weather locked behind a pane of glass. One small break is all it would take to cut short this placid hideaway. It’s interesting that way, that the difference between cozy bedroom and ruined mess is only a window thick. Astronauts must know that feeling most starkly. No storm on the other side, no anything, forever. And a small break isn’t just the end of the room, but death. The windowpane can be almost anything, I think. The idea is still there. So many small things create the life we know. 6.6/10.

March 10, 2021. Courtesy of Joey Cifelli ’23.

I met someone earlier today who fell sideways. I walked out of class and saw him sitting on a bench, except he was sitting where most of us place our backs. I said hello and asked him how he got to be in such a predicament. He replied that he had been in Spain up until an hour ago when he slipped on a dog leash and plummeted across the Atlantic Ocean. He said he came to a jarring stop on that very bench and was thinking about what to do next. I offered him hospitality in my room if he so wished, and he gratefully accepted. It took some time to plan out a path that would be suitable for us both. 7.2/10.

March 11, 2021. Courtesy of Joey Cifelli ’23.

I walked on the stone walkway most of the way, and he walked on the pebbly rock wall of the building next to it, occasionally being forced to climb or hop down the fashionable architecture. Thinking on this, I imagined he must appreciate minimalist design. And gothic architecture, well, it must be a nightmare. I was about to share my musings when an extremely unfortunate gust of wind caused the man to lose his footing and tumble like a weed off the wall and out of sight. I finished walking to my room after that, and it has just occurred to me that I never asked for his name. 6.2/10.

You May Also Like

+ There are no comments

Add yours