If you were not yet made aware, my little region of the universe is experiencing what has been variously referred to as Snowmageddon and The Snowpocalypse. It is a land of buffeting winds and snowfall most heavy and foul. All is shut down; I was not able to attend that forgetters concert, was not able to meet Mr. Schwarzenbach. Instead, I was made to remain in this three-dorm area and contemplate the world I have left behind. Occasionally I have heard reports over my phone, which works only infrequently, of the war zone that my old school has become; it does not sound positive. But communication is limited, which makes this all the more worrisome; my only recourse to the computer is rare and depends entirely on the kindness of the computer lab operator, a most surly individual. Music is impossible to come by in this environment, and my work has been canceled until further notice.

What I can do is this: read. Read copiously. I cannot say much for what I have read, for it has been in a building of noise. Little time do I have for concentration; little time do I have to digest what it is that is put before me. I read only to keep madness from slipping in the back door and claiming my soul. Human contact is as it has been for five weeks now: at a minimum. I fear that this shall be it: with no recourse to walking or reading for escape, I shall soon enough return to writing by pencil that which needs doing. Before then, though, I feel that madness might steal beside me and take that which I cherish most of all. Friends, if you are in the area, please do come by and deliver what aid you can to a man much on the verge of madness. That my hometown team won that Overbowl is lost on me. All that I can see and feel now is the icy hands of a bleached world and the whispering of things in the darkness.

Please stay tuned to Mr. Rainwater’s announcements. They should provide you the solace that one such as I cannot. Thank you.