STEM majors beware. This problem has no easy answer: no cheat-sheet, no appended explanation, no eventual epiphany. Columbians have disintegrated into ashes and dust contemplating this question, this irresolvable conflict, this ponderous celestial weight. Why is that one window always glowing blue? A John Jay native searches for answers – to no avail.
I see you.
Yes, you. Blue light. Cerulean presence. Ultramarine luminescence. Prussian prince of the 8th floor.
They say everything is in a name, but no title I could ever devise would capture what you truly are. And maybe this is why you evade all rationalization.
That is to say, you exist in a plane far beyond logic. Space, time, reason – such banal things don’t apply to you, blue. Saintly, post-structural thing, you are.
When I saw you for the first time, I was struck not by your beauty, but by your daring. Your willingness to stand out, to eschew convention, to do as no window has done before and shed the dogma of fluorescent white light. Such a bold act takes character.
But can I even call you a “character”? Can such an omnipresent actuality be said to exist within such limits?
You exist outside of my limits. You are as a star, glittering distantly in a sea of darkness that envelops (envelopes, perhaps?) all things transient in this dastardly world.
Dearest blue light, listen to my plea: shed your secrets. And I do not mean your voltage, your place of origin, or your manufacturer — I mean your cardinal purpose, your ressentiment, your cogito-ergo-sum.
If it is within your infinite power to formulate words, speak forth Zarathustra! Speak forth and illuminate our miserly human condition, just as you illuminate my walk home from EC.
I adore you, blue light. Never cease shining.
Image via Bwog Staff