My sickening and subsequent absconding from our Center for Talented Youth in Carlisle this year was, as some may put it, "fucking terrible." But there is a bright side to everything, in the end.

I'd like to take the time to make an impromptu post-mortem passionfruit toast:

To the dwellers,
to the up-and-coming,
to the Nook of Debauchery and the Temple of Chambers,
to teaching traditions and feigning ignorance,
to weapons found in refrigerators,
to quotes made daily,
to Rage Face,
to laughing 'till you bleed,
to solitary confinement,
to nonviolent protest that quickly becomes otherwise,
to flesh wounds and the Pop-Tarts that caused them,
to antitheses and beautiful souls,
to bathrobes and beards,
to screaming a lot,
to languages nobody understands,
to Chrispianity and all of its priests and prophets,
to night and day, and the time just in between the two where anything is funny,
to sleight of hand and slight of mind,
to the cake analogy,
to contraband,
to all the fools and madmen,
and, most of all, to strangeness, oddity, and conflict;

I love CTY, and I love the Passionfruit.