Refugee

At the start of break, I spent two days in DC - on the bus ride down, in between naps, I looked at the road and felt inspired. After a cigarette and copious vomiting, I spit out a bunch of random couplets and passed back out. Today, on the way to Hidden Valley, a way to put most of 'em together popped into my head - I don't know if its any good, or if they make sense as a song, but put with a verse I wrote sitting with Probes during Thanksgiving, it's something that came out hella fast, and I want to type it up.



Refugee (for lack of anything else right now)
I'm just another refugee from a small town
Hiding my fears and worries behind the tears of a clown
Fought my way out so I wouldn't stay and drown
Now I just run for refuge and seek solace in the sound

Walking and riding and watching and waiting
for a truth that may never come
knowing the burning of delicious
that you share with only some
screaming open at the road and howling by the trucks
trying to leave behidn the inner doubt that pulls and sucks
the pile of repeated occasions and meaningless fucks
there's no one waiting for me at the end of this tunnel
my days keep dripping down a dark funnel
there's no one waiting in any place I'd call home
so I just draw silent strength in the feeling of stone
wrap myself in the cold confidence of being alone
and let myself slide into the sound

chorus

as I ride i'm reminded of the beauty in dead quiet trees
parked cars and peaceful life, smoky breeze
one that whips out over the fields
so I push aside the jokes that make up my shield
let the cold take me back to another life
to times when I thought I had a wife
to all the things I ran and left behind
they hang like streamers in the caverns of my mind
and I'm reminded of all those who've been my favorite girl
we'd lie with arms curled together at the top of the world
but time flies fast and those things are in the past
and that's okay
with my head up I make my way
striding forward I still bare all trying to fing my best
and let my smile wrap around the sutured holes in my chest

chorus

whoops - gotta run, I'll finish it later

Semester Down

I don't have time to write about this semester, and I've been sleeping so much over break I don't mind (too much) that I haven't reflected on it yet. A week with eight sexual assaults; brain tumors; arms broken on video; and wildly popular metaphor races. All that stuff. For now, I'll just share something I wrote one morning during homeroom and read to my kids -

I'm going to miss you guys
So don't make it goodbyes -
We've made it through a semester
And I think it's been a treasure
People've been mad and sad
and people've gotten in trouble
a whole lot of you have made fun of my stubble
there's been a lot of writing
and way too much fighting
luckily, with (I think) no biting
and sometimes, class seemed to stretch on for miles
but every single day you guys made me smile
so thanks for the times
and listening to my silly rhymes
I loved everything you wrote
your essays and your poems both
I think you've all been awesome
and I love the way that you've blossomed
I appreciate all the happy tears
and I can't wait for the rest of the year
....
I'm going to miss you guys!
so dont' make this a goodbye
have an awesome break
and for about two weeks I'll wait
to see you again
and I'm excited for that then

Hehe.
fuck it; I type fast - I'll put up something else before I get out of here for revelry

Fossil Creek

It's vitriolic, but it's not nearly as mean as it could be. I suppose you have to know more to make it that, or want to divulge more of your own secrets. But it is the most like a three-verse song I've written; I just need to figure out exactly how long the chorus is going to be.

Fossil Creek
As I'm sitting here in this canyon, I don't feel abandoned.
I'm mad - at how long I wasa led on.

Listen.
You could've communicated better
let me know that others made you wetter
you're a better liar than I ever gave you credit
not surprised I believed you when you said it
when you said you loved me and you cared
even though your heart was never really there
but me, I wanted so badly to believe
I wanted it every time I breathed
so I guess I was easy to deceive
Every single rhyme I wrote you
was another part of me hooked onto
the dream of us fast and true
another reason to tell me what was up
to let me know that once again, I wasn't enough
but you just kept saying I love you
through a mouth wrapped around someone else
as I believed hoped and jumped
and I wrecked myself
now I've got the memory of how she screams
when she creams
it echoes in my dreams
as I watch everyone else climb in her jeans

Chorus:
so when I would lie on a beach and whisper your name
it's better to remember the time I thought we had and the truth were never the same
you looked me in the eye and lied with no shame
you'd already gone with him, you'd already came
so fuck the times we held hands and kissed, running in the rain
fuck me for thinking that when we made love, you felt sparks and flames
fuck cuddling and snuggling on the bedsheets we'd stained
and fuck you for all the ways I changed
trust escaped my grasping hands
and I ceased to feel like a man

I'm grinding out all the memories of you
Smashing out the bits of us, because I'm fucking through
if there's any worth keeping, I don't have a clue
I'll flush 'em all down the drain
good and bad gone just the same
all clean ripped out of my brain
cauterized cleansed and thrown away
murder the moments to build a new day
because looking back, there's no way of knowing
if the good times were just when your lies weren't showing
i'll never know if those times really mattered
and I guess I could be flattered
to be one of the bugs splattered
on the windshield of your life
impaled because I believed right into your knife
silly hick who thought he'd found a partner and a wife
now I know better than to cut my strings
to freefall for love or emotional things
so keep my parts I've already locked up my heart
thanks, I guess, for the lessons learned
and the scars burned
If it weren't for you
I might slip again into something fake true
so forget bending my neck
and the ache in my chest
I'd rather keep what's left of my pride
than give someone else access inside

Chorus

Like a fish with hooks in my cheeks
and a pole in my mouth to pull me in
I was a junkie chasing a race
I was never gonna win
You smashed a hole right through what I thought I knew
The kryptonite for my belief in love, baby, that was you
The straw that broke this camel's back
Ripped my heart right off its tracks
See, strike one was the girl in my hometown
for nearly three years we fooled around and held it down
but she just wasn't the queen to wear my crown
second was the girl with the wicked guitar
had plenty of dreams that we would go far
but when she took a year off
I was too chicken and soft
didn't think I could make it
and decided to break it off
a horrible mistake I don't get to take back
etched in my heart is her name on a crack
and then there was you
the third I thought true
you cheated on me and betrayed me
laughed and out of pity laid me
kept me hooked thinking you still wanted me
but all you really did was laugh and taunt me
I don't want your silly poems and your stupid lyrics
they're not apologies or answers so I don't want to hear it
you were right, and I was wrong
the girl who didn't wear thongs
who stuck around for way too long
proved to me love is barely for songs
and that relationships are a joke
bound like burning bridges to end up in smoke
now I know that never
is a whole lot more likely than forever and ever
soon as you meet someone on whom you can depend
know they're set to betray you in the end
so forget saying thanks for reality
or teaching these facts to me
come to think of it, you were just a bitch to me

Chorus

Written - with morning beers in a canyon, waiting for everyone else to wake up for the adventure walk; after Christmas eve shopping in a bar, and at home on Christmas Day.

I think the chorus might just be the lines that start with fuck; maybe I could have a bridge somewhere, too:

I don't know why I tried
when there were so many other guys
I don't know why you tried
when there were so many lies
I don't know why we tried
when we should've just said goodbye

...quiet, slower, spoken? I think it depends on the beat I put together.

Anyway, the memories really do come fewer and further between. Last night, unbidden as I was falling asleep, I had a really vivid one - the way she looked back in my dorm, her eyes glittering and her lips pursed in a slow smile, the day I took her blindfolded to that restaurant and Pilobolus. I suppose, in my mind, there was love and passion that day, but probably not.

You never really know. I don't think all the shit happened that could have, but there's no denying the serious possibility. If someone holds you and tells you they could never lie to you, and then you find out two years later they could easily do just that, there are plenty of questions.

That birthday dinner was a week before she got with Josh. A week. If her words then had some truth, I'd been boring and unalive for awhile, and I guess that would include that night - boring, unalive, without spark or shine. More likely, she met him and thoughts of me strayed.

Or maybe what she said was real - who knows. I won't.

The most sympathetic view I can come up with for her in us is that she was just young and confused, maybe uninvested, unprepared, or frightened.

The sympathetic view fits with some things - not with her spending a week fucking her ex and then spending two nights with me, but not wanting to tell me anything because "it would hurt me too much." That's not "inward," it was just deceptive and self-serving - it let her do what she wanted, without having to see me in pain.

Her poem said I took the long route out of getting over her - really? As opposed to her way, the short route? I gave a fuck; I believed; I lost my faith in things by the time it was done and I was hanging on like I was dragged behind a bronco in a bad movie.

She condescendingly told me that she "understood I would need to villainize her" or some such shit like that - I didn't need to villainize anyone else I dated, and I didn't realize that villainization was some necessary part of a break-up. (Was it for her? Or is that just for humans who are unfortunately bound by emotions?) It's funny - yeah, I villainized her; because she spent three months letting me think she wanted me and loved me while she had no such interest, that she spent those three months telling me cutesy things while fucking other people.

And that's what's interesting, now - it isn't whether she fucked Josh and Tony or whoever else, or just kissed them, or nothing at all - it's that I'm sure she betrayed me in some way, and that seems like enough. If she was "involved" with Josh, I'm sure there was more than kissing; whether that meant they were fucking behind my back or that he was the one she went to when she needed to talk about shit, it was still horrible - especially since she wouldn't talk to me about things. Tony - who she fed in Dod, who she'd change her underwear before she went to have dinner with his parents, while I spent months wrapped up in play rehearsals - who the fuck knows. And anyone else?

Fuck it - I'll never know; she couldn't even bother to tell me why it was she stayed with me. Of course you would stay with someone you didn't love or respect; it's inertia, it's not wanting to be the one to do the breaking. All she could do was send me some song - the point being "Hey, I'm aware you're in pain?" "Or, haha, she's off and doesn't care anymore?" or who-the-fuck-knows - and some poem where she acted like I would be confused by metaphors, implied that getting over me took nothing at all (no surprise there), and that she'd always given me her all - as in, not telling me the truth for three months.

Oh well X-p
(and her poem wasn't bad; it just wasn't what I gave a fuck about haha)

It was nice to put that into typed text that isn't scrawled in notebooks -there's something clean about putting my poems and songs on here. I wrote almost a whole song on the way to Hidden Valley to go tubing (I wrote the song out and most of this before we left).

I have a lot to write about school and break; but I'm heading to the South Side soon. We'll see. Pot roast calls. :-)

Fartin' in the Shower/ Fuck You, Rudy

Man – it is so tempting to restring my guitar and sit up all night by candlelight being absurd. It occurred to me that, with no power, I can’t get out of my apartment complex, so I can’t really drive to school. I can, of course, hitch a ride; but it seems so much cooler to just say “fuck it” and play around. Of course, this candle blows, so I wouldn’t be able to restring my guitar, play on my laptop and make beats – it’s going to die in a few – or anything else, so that will keep me slightly sane. I think I’ll just type up this song, and if the power’s still out, go wander around the complex and the area for a bit with a Fat Tire and enjoy the views. J

This song is one I rapped a cappella at VybeLive, the hip-hop open mic in downtown Phoenix. I was sick nasty nervous, and I went way too fast – but I got a lot of love afterwards, even out in the parking lot, from people telling me I had skill. It felt so good – here it is:

Fuck You Rudy / Farting in the Shower
Farting in the shower
and it smells like the ocean
seven beers in
and I’m moving in slow motion
Looking down past my meat
to check out my feet
and the way that my toes grip the floor
Drunk I wonder why we’re so sure
that we’re something more
that we’re so evolved
that we’re so complex
we don’t know what’s next
stop and look at ‘em
check out your feet and check out your hands
stop a minute and burn up your plans
cuz life’s just a stage
and we’re all the dancers
never met the director
don’t know the answers
We’re just mammals looking for some tail and some love
now and then looking up to the sky above
cuz we all need help and advice
on how to make it through life
We don’t know that what we do with our day
is worth it
if we’ll look back and say
that we’re proud
of what we did and who we were
and we know we won’t know for sure before we go
before we’re dead and dust
and to no end it fucks with us
Me? It pisses me off

I admit I’m neither macho nor machine
I am addicted to the monster eyed green
That spoils the meat it eats
Or even more the fire that burns in my veins
When I’m caught out of turn
or caught in my pain
and the one so alike that ignites my skin
when I’m slammed in the throes of that perfect sin
or the kind of romance where you lose yourself
and I for one don’t think I’d prefer anything else
I’m fed and I feed this monkey on my back
fires and monsters more addictive than smack
and what’s fun is that you have him too
and I really, really want you to let him through

--fucking Rudy.
Rudy defined for all the world a man
as someone who can
walk with kings and never lose the common touch
one who neither friend nor foe can hurt much
if at all
and that shit leaves me appalled
if your lover’s untrue
if that wouldn’t kill you
if the betrayal of a friend
wouldn’t leave you at wit’s end
you weren’t really in love
where was the potential for pain?
It’s true what they say if you risk
nothing that’s exactly what you’ll gain
and the same goes for friends
if there’s no one on who you depend
then there’s no one to care if you meet your end
If either of these are the case
the proof left when the curtain falls
Why were you here at all?
I don’t know what this life is for
There’s very few things I know for sure
But I belive that if you love someone
you should let ‘em know
and if you hate ‘em
fuck it, let it show
we’re all together in this mess
and life’s too short to guess
how everyone feels
more than that, we’re blessed to feel
to risk to gain
to trust and lose
to feel some pain
be forced to choose
to live and learn
to breathe and burn
if you live your life and never shed a tear
never just needed a friend and a beer
then you missed the reason why you’re here
I might not seem like an expert on the subject
jumping out the shower and dripping wet
eating waffles with pb and j
slugging tequila plain
still crusted with soap
and looking straight insane

But here’s my closing thought
as I return to rinse
That since we can we ought
If we want the bull for the horns
enjoy the rose for the thorns
smoke from bridges burned
and cold shoulders turned
nights wasted in fights
tears poured into beers
as much as
victories made
sex and pink lemonade
enjoyed in the shade
the smiles and time spent with friends
and the hug of family at journey’s end
I mean – we only get one shot
why-the-fuck-not?
But, I’m too drunk to keep chasing that thought
though I’m feeling enthused
so I’m out the shower
dripping and stumbling
and searching for brews

Damn. That fucker was epic – maybe I could just plug choruses in between the early breaks, but a short instrumental bridge with no lyrics in the last break – in between two really fast, short-phrased sections. Hmmm..


It was interesting how I used to revel in every emotion, and sing the praises of the thorns on the rose, and don’t now. I don’t know if it’s because I’ve recognized unhealthy psyches and emotions in myself, and sought to clean myself of them, or because I’ve decided pain sucks, post-Emily. Maybe it was a new level of style and pain, so I decided it sucked? Or was I “growing up”?

Well – shit. I’ve thought for awhile now that “Hey, you learn from your mistakes – means monstrous ones must be full of lessons,” but I don’t really stress that anymore; now I just feel pretty peaceful. So we’ll see – maybe I’ll come back to digging on pain, or perhaps this is a permanent, valid realization that pain sucks.

I still like the concept of being emotionally free – I just feel like I’m much more emotionally independent, and less free. Maybe there’s less opportunity to be so, or need to, or simply less opportunity to exercise it, living, working, and knowing with a bunch of overworked dedicated teachers. I love the sensation of self-reliability – it’s so strange that feeling self-reliable feels completely different from the cocky confidence of when I was oversexed and under emotionally developed. it’s quieter. It’s nice; and I don’t feel any of the “fuck, is being water just cold and dead, or simply lividly boring” that I stressed in mid-senior year and post-thesis. I simply feel relaxed and no longer aroused to respond to annoying or distressing things. Sometimes I just feel stony, and I wonder (and hope that it’s not) that it’s simply closing off to the world, that stoniness. That’s why I want to wait and see if being free and self-reliable, emotionally, can coexist. They seem like they would naturally go together - except perhaps, when you’re self-reliable, you don’t even stress the inherent opinion-of-others aspect that I feel like creeps into most popular conceptions of being “free,” of being the happy hippie. Perhaps, instead, it’s the self-reliability and confidence of some solo nomad in the wild (not, of course, that I have any absurd notions of macho-Jack-London-self. That image pops into my head and is just laughably far out to me.), and so you’re free in a way that is simply an aspect of being self-sufficient. Or maybe being free means similarly, that you don’t even have self-reliability in a way that we typically conceive of it – you simply are, and exist, and do not stress practicality in a Zen way that doesn’t even ponder self-reliability – coasting along and enjoying.

Which came first, the freedom or the self-reliability? Guess that’s kind of the odd tangential question there, just to check out far abroad I’m wandering at this point.

Anyway, DAMN. The fidelity is shitty, but the Thrice B-sides I downloaded during class are phenomenal. Plus, they segued straight into the remixes of Lux Aeterna I have, which are completely redefining relaxed happiness right now, the intensity of the song notwithstanding. I have not had such a complete, interesting – at least to myself – self talk in awhile.

My laptop’s dying anyway – I’m getting another beer and going to enjoy the outdoors (rainy as hell or not) before bed.
12:26

Potential

(written last night at 11 with no electricity)

Football, weight training, socializing, teaching, lesson planning, ASU, writing, beatmaking, picking guitar back up - all of that seems like an impossible list.

But I want to do all of that, minus the first two, hands down. And talking to Kentucky tonight, and hearing about the first two, made it sound like a wonderful thing. Granted, I don't think he does much besides work out and play; dealing with ED kids, his life is basically crisis management, and avoiding getting stabbed (unsuccessfully - albeit with pencils and pens) all day, he doesn't really have to lesson plan. But fuck it, let's dream the impossible.

I just dealt with my last ASU classes for the semester, and went out with my cohort; life seems unimaginably free and wonderful right now. I can't imagine what it's like to teach and not simultaneously spend nights working on Master's, but it's gotta be so much better - tonight seems like a small inkling of that.

It's storming like a motherfucker in Phoenix right now, and has been for a good 14 hours - we just lost power in the apartment. It makes it kind of fun. Can't post this, have no light whatsoever in my apartment, just this glow - what a good eve. The perfectly smart decision would have been to go to bed as soon as I got back; the horrible decision would be to restring my guitar, or open up a music making program - I feel that in that case, I would be up for hours, creating.

I won't go nuts - can't download any more b-sides; I'll just sit and enjoy this beer and type up a song. I'm strangely happy and content at this moment - life seems so full of possibility and potential right now.

The Bits

(just looked in my written posts; I wrote this post several days ago, during my prep, and never did hit post. I forget what I was going to add - guess I'll put it up now. I was driving home today from work to ASU, and I think I might rip part of Aceyalone's "Everything Changes" and JMT's "Death Messiah" to make a backbeat - with some drum fills - as a beat for this, rhyming or not. I think the opener and closer for the latter would be a great lead in and final fall out, and good for in between lines. We'll see)

It actually hit me when I was walking out of my door to work yesterday morning, that "Farting in the Shower/Fuck You, Rudy" and "The Bits" were practically at complete odds with each other. I liked the statement in FITS/FYR, but I suppose the last few months may have changed my perspective on the matter - I'm coming around to the value of scorched earth.

Anyway, my level of production is going crazy - I went through my last three notepads, and started copying out smaller rhymes - that weren't part of any particular song, just jotted thoughts - into a new notebook, and organizing them by idea, so I could maybe string them together, or use the ideas and metaphors in them. That started taking so long, that I typed 5 single-spaced pages, just based out of the last notebook alone, after I'd stopped copying by hand.

I'm enjoying that fact. Anyway, I wanted to put up "The Bits" - I wrote it at home, a day or two before Thanksgiving, in one sitting, lying on the couch with my sisters. It was one of those trance writings, and it was interesting to me, because I made no attempt at rhyming. I haven't written a non-rhyming poem in a long, long time - "The Bits" is interesting to me both because of that fact, and because immediately after I wrote it, I began to write some other non-rhyming, but more song-structured items.


The Bits

I feel - I think - there were bits
of amazing, of passion, of love
but the aftertaste of latent contempt—
in that shitstorm, I can’t find them
you cheated
I cheated
you cheated
I cheated
we cheated
we quit
and we stayed anyway
maybe the bits kept happening
but I choked you off
choked you out
I was bitter
and you tore me apart for it
I kept you from what you loved
and fell for a Manhattan lesbian
but you got me back, well and good
you sent me heartfelt notes
said you needed to hear my voice
through a mouth wrapped around someone else
and while I thought of your kittens
and your hands in my hair
you laughed and bared it for everyone else
kept me hanging –
on the little bits that still cared
and if it wasn’t on purpose
you still knew what you were doing
it was still a summer for a fall
a quick trip past the bitter end
ammonia to clarify and erase whatever bits
I might find in the pictures of your face
staring intently from my phone
the ones I haven’t already deleted
so that when I think of Spain and
concerts and the road and my bed
sheets soaked with sweat and spent
grasping passion and your glowing eyes
full of laughter and love and hate
it’s all dimmer
whitewashed and going under
sands of grit scraping away
grinding the bits to zeroes in my mind
it’s not that we failed
it’s that we tried
long after we should’ve quit
all those precious little bits
are floating in a river of shit
and I’m pleasantly, painfully washing it away
the jealousy contempt fear
self-hatred love wonder passion
all together all gone all together
it’s so much simpler
just rip the bits out
cover, scrape, cleanse
take the lessons learned
like scars from a scrape and use them
know them
more poignant than silly ink
take them, and leave the bits behind
all together all gone
all gone, all together
scrape, wash, cleanse, bleach
gone
a river of shit
wash it away
so you don’t have to pick anything in it
you don’t know what’s worthwhile in there anyway

3 am yummy

Been a bit since I put something up; just wanted to end my night in a sweater and boxers and a haze, deliciously writing and typing as I find myself doing lately. --Not a sweater, but boxers or nothing, naked and writing, inebriated or wrapped in smoke and curled in blankets spilling and spitting and thinking and writing.

Gotta talk about fall break, about red glows and beers; meaning to talk about poems - have a half-written post with "The Bits" in it, and need to put up the accompanying "Fuck You, Rudy"; need to talk about teaching - about the difference between rapport and respect, about the sexual assaults in the past week, about brain tumors, about inspiration and self-failure versus fucking up because you didn't try, about Seattle and San Diego and KIPP and Portland and Denver and Colorado as a place and Albequerque and Brooklyn and Southern Manhattan as wonderful places, with better salaries and resources and accountability and more fulfilling teaching experiences - and most interestingly, the talks with friends about charter schools and moving to Seattle together or Brooklyn or other amazing places, and laughing over dinner when you find out every carload of people had the same conversation en route, as we are all at similar points of frustration and success and despair and glee and desperation in life; and my most recent musical selections which are rocking my shit: Thrice B-sides, in addition to the Beggars album, which are rocking my world, poetically, thematically, and musically, the Thrice album lyrics remolding my mind in terms of their flow; Them Crooked Vultures, with Dave Grohl on drums, John Paul Jones of Led Zep on bass and keyboards, and Josh Homme of Kyuss and QOTSA and Eagles of Death Metal and whatever else on guitar and lead vocals, with absurd rhythm and melodies, full of massive pulsing purple sexual rhythms and orange-red percussion piercing it in a fabric perfect for oral sex and lyrical inspiration; Michael Buble, Paramore, string remixes of the themes from Requiem for a Dream, jazz funk, metalcore, French angst techno, Citizen Cope - with "Son's Gonna Rise" rocking my car-drive and home existence every ten minutes - all of these songs, a random melange on my current list, along with others, as well as a Thrice Christmas half-mix, with a cover of Carol of the Bells that melts every aspect of my being - all of this shit deserves a writing in this thing, and in my journal perhaps.

It's weird what I pull out a pen for and what I write on here for. Sometimes I think it's completely random (except, of course, when I type out a rhyme on here. It's such a different funk and flow, typing words from finger-taps as opposed to small-motor manipulation a pencil on a page), and other times, I think it's a mathematical progression of what I'm thinking - like this morning, stoned and walking into ASU, ready for flowers to grow from my eyes - and many times, it's just a matter of efficiency: Sometimes, I can manipulate a pen, others, the best I can hope for is hunting-and-pecking letters on a keyboard, and that determines where soemthing gets written.

Anyway, funny how it happens. Typing is faster, but feels less authentic, and is rooted to laptops at the simplest (minus one of those bigassphones), and I prefer more than anything the sweat of things scribed in my current book. As annoying as the moleskine (or whatever this thing is) may be, it's nice to have something new to remind me of the $1.29 notebooks I've burnt through, now piled in my room.

I need to pass out - writing, conversation with good people in other places - that must wait.

Good night, good luck, good love, and god bless - it's a wonderful, cold night, and I can't wait to curl up and enjoy sleep in it.

Beatcraft

This shit is blowing my mind. I went online, thinking I'd find a beatmaker to put my raps to; now I could sit here for days assembling drum fills and making a percussion song. I can see why it takes so long -

"I deserve to make these numbers
Locked in a room making five beats a day for three summers"

but damn is it fun. This is a powerful ass program.

Matty P will be over later - much Coors Light and audio fills will be produced. I suddenly don't want to go back to Phoenix, at least for another day or two - I'd rather sit and produce stuff with a musical friend. :-)

Even Odds

I'm chilling at home, stuffed with tryptophan, and incapable of higher brain function. It's been awesome; I'll write about it later. For now, I'm chilling at a friend's, and I need to kill some time. I think I'll just post one of my rhymes from my everpresent pocketbook - this one's called Even Odds, Good Odds, who knows. :-)

Hey, what's up? Hello there
I see you watching with that hungry stare
And I do believe it's quite fair
To tell you to take care and beware
Because I'm probably going to tell you half-lies
I'm only half-like most other guys
See, there's a half a chance
I'll be aching to get in your pants
And if that's the case
I swear I'll say what needs to be said
To ride home and roll dirty in your bed
Even if that means just shitty drunk head
You've got even odds to show up at your door
And I'll be naked as a whore is
And you can rape me bored
Like a bad Seattle chorus
The only thing of which I'm sure is
That you're not the one I want to take to My Florist
But I'm probably not going to heed these thoughts
So pour out some shots
Before you pull out my cock
We'll kill the lights and let it rock
Have ourselves a frantic fleeting fuck
with no shame and no names and hope at least one of us came when it's all done I'll remember the flame, and know that not all sex is the same
It's not just a matter of feeling her turn inside out or wrapping our legs around each other's mouth or finding every single place we can fuck inside of my house
--I want a girl with a razor-sharp brain
There's nothing like it, nothing the same
I want a girl with wicked liquid laughing beautiful eyes
So I'm aching to kneel and lick my way up your thighs
I want to hear a fantastic, free laugh
Like she's down to chase me around and smack my ass
See, I don't pound, I grind
I want to run my hand through your hair and feel your orgasm come out the back of your mind
In fact, I want to be able to just slip, nibble and suck
have so much fun when we laugh and touch
that I don't care if we fuck
and sometimes it's so hard to find it
That I try to pretend I don't mind it
let myself forget I crave someone to wine and dine
who will have ridiculous sex with my mind
because I'm 23 and sometimes I just want to make someone mine
so I let my will break and give into the urge to make someone's legs shake
because I LOVE it when she comes
I love to make her go
I like to bend and play and curl your toes
I like it because I did it, it was me, I know
but it's not always like that
sometimes, mentally, it's just falling flat
I might still come hard as a gun
we might roll and dance have plenty of fun
but if I want to grind and make love to your mind
then there be one behind your eyes that I respect
and if I'm not digging your humor and intellect
then I'm not really interested in teasing you wet
and your ladynut is still a sure bet
but just because it's polite
not because I want to eat you all night
so reciprocating down south is a
rote obligatory lie down and add mouth
Nah - I want to find a girl whose grin lights up my whole world
find you in a crowd because you laugh out loud
discover how you taste after a bbeer
feel your hot breath on my ear
wrap my arms around to draw you near
feel your body lean into mine
eager to worship at your shrine
to pour out some rum stick my thumb in your bum and lick the front to make you come
the look in your eyes when you finally let go
feel your bloody nails down my back
and you soften when you hold me close
whether you wriggle your nose
whether you throw you head back, or side-to-side
do your legs fly out or pull me deeper inside?
do you need to stop and breathe or is it just a minute before you're again ready to ride?
I want a real reason to scream like a heathen
don't just wanna ride for personal pride
because not every notch on that post is a reason to boast
I've let just about anybody
ride my face until my nose is bloody
and their legs are putty
but I want more than a whore
like the redhead I had on Ty's floor
someone who's funny when we're done and sore
but look, everything aside I'm still 23 and horny to ride
so there's your even odds and chances
that I'm interested in casual romances
and why my lies are maybe half-true
I might be interested, but wish there was more to you
if not, you're still got a decent shot
my will breaks and I'm ready to shake
but in the meantime I'm going to sit
and work on my rhymes and wiat til I find someone with a wicked mind to wine and dine and actually want to make mine

Good Morning, Reasons Why I Drink

Hehe - heard that on Scrubs the night before last with Sky and it sounded so apropo.

So, Tuesday was the second day where the students took their district-wide benchmark testing, to see how they'd been doing for the past few months. The results are conclusive:
(1) Two separate bathrooms were lit on fire.
(2) A third bathroom was graffitied.
(3) Two eighth-grade girls in my homeroom drank tequila, in school, for a few hours until they got caught - by smell.

Other fun weekly happenings:
On Monday, one of my roommates had a kid chuck a rock at his head on the way back from recess.

On Wednesday, a 7th grader brought a boombox into class. While the kids were working on test review, he plugged it in, stuck it under his hoodie, and began blaring music. Hoodie or not, it wasn't hard to figure out who had it; I confiscated it. The next day they'd already picked the lock into class, or otherwise gained access, and retrieved said boombox.

Today, I spent $150 on a pizza party for the best students from each class. Way too much money. But I've enjoyed them on the last day before break, and it was a nice thing to do. They were really happy, even if they still get my name wrong.

I've come to realize taht something's gotta give. I can't keep covering $300 monthly car payments and $600 a month for rent and utilities. I've either got to get refinancing, or sell the Tiny Car.

Also, I think I will become a flight attendant. Travel, time to work on writing, people to meet, travel. And I can chuck the children off the plane when no one's looking.
But, seriously. A flight attendant? I'm blonde and perky. :-)

Sneeze

Back in ASU - I showed up almost an hour and a half late; I got home, and Barishnakov suggested having a beer with his friend from Spain, which seemed absurdly more interesting than sitting through classes I don't like, am required to take, and which expect absurd amounts of busywork. The professor for my first class is amazing, and nice, so I feel guilty, but it's just not hugely necessary or helpful. I do enjoy it at times, though, and so I wanted to take a moment, and post the freestyle I wrote for class last week.

We were asked to do a freewrite - a writing sneeze, as my professor put it - for three minutes. I, being slightly inebriated, took the cue and chose to spend the time spilling out a quick little rhyme. I found it in my laptop case when I got here this evening, and thought it was kind of nice - so I thought I'd share it. The sneeze was:

"In my class, writing is..."

a pain
a chore
for them, a bore
but every so often, they stop
and realize the words aren't slop
they come easy and fun
and that's when I know the "not done"
chant they yell when I come to take their papers
like an absurdly dressed waiter
is not something said in panic, but with pride
because they broke through and found the writer inside
--ok, so it's not quite as transcendental as that
but still, it's the kid who yesterday wouldn't've sat
who is today glued to his chair
with his nose right at the page there
playing the annoying child game
double-checking to make sure their sentences don't start the same
asking themselves "why" over and over again
while the words tumble and roll from their pen
quiet and determined inside they try
more now, since I told them they bring happy tears from my eyes
and when it happens I love to hold up the page they filled
and praise them in front of the class for the words they spilled

Yup. I thought it was fun. Maybe not, but I thought it was worth sharing.

For the Kids

I got one of the most unsettling emails I've ever recieved yesterday morning, and I suppose it's deserved. I'm working through my thoughts, of which I've of course produced pages. I had a day off, woke up at 11, retired to bed for an extra hour, and then played bball for two straight hours. I am loving Encanto. Anyway, I then spent three hours at Toyota getting my oil changed, and I had plenty of time then to sit and think, and apply some of the perspective I've gained since graduation, through Institute, and through these last few months. I'll write on that later; I just wanted to post the rhyme I wrote for my kids last week I mentioned.

They really are absurd; one girl has missed two weeks of school, apparently under the impression that she could just drop out (and presumably, her family didn't disabuse her of the notion, or didn't know that she was wrong). Today, she came back, and as I saw her in the hallways, I observed that she appeared to be in a ridiculously cheery mood, and thought perhaps two weeks off had improved her; instead, she was in a good mood because she had come back to school for one sole purpose: Fighting with another girl during recess. I guess kids had been ragging on the first girl for being a chicken--for not coming back to school to get in a fight--and she was finally back to settle some score.

Seriously - for many of these kids, school is viewed as an interruption of their sex lives, and a stage for their fights and establishments of reputation. Not for all, but for some. I mean, come on --coming back to school just to fight?

Anyway, this is the song that I read, and one of the girls in the fight - the one who usually attends - is one of the girls I made cry that day. Hope she remembers the message when she gets back, and in the future.

So it happened - you probably saw me cry
Saw me stop my mouth flop and the tears in my eyes
So I want to take a minute and tell you why
I come every day, and I see your faces
Smiling, sad, or angry, I just want you to go places
Because I care about each and everyone of you
(name), (Name), (Name), (name), and (name), you too
I want each everyone of you to fulfill your dreams
So when class is out of control and I scream
It's not as simple as it seems
I'm not truly angry or mad
Truth is, I feel robbed - of the day we could've had
And I'm disappointed. And I'm worried.
I feel like time is so short, and we must hurry
For the days are ticking by ever so fast
But before the 25th of May has slipped past
I want to give you everything I can
So come what may, you will stand
With your head held high and a wicked grin
The confidence that it's your life, you're gonna win
Because you can do anything you want, I know it
That's why I push you, I demand that you show it
I don't want you to keep your light locked up inside
I want you to crack your shell, and make sure you hold it up high
So you yourself can see just how bright you shine
Look at the glow coming from around yourself and think, "hey, that's mine"
That's why I fret, and that's why I stress
When you don't hear what I say and the class is a mess
Because I want the world to be your buffet
Like Burger King, so you can have it your way
And I want to make sure that happens
So it's about time I stopped my stupid silly rapping
And get back to regular class
Now you know - I don't just want you to pass
I want you to be the best
That's why I feel it get tight in my chest
and I cry
when you don't push
when you don't try
so please - put some happy tears in my eyes

Clove On the Water

Forgot to hit post on this the other day:
I wrote most of this in both of the locations in the poem. I did just about all the editing and wrapping it up over a clove and a Corona on an apartment balcony in the setting sun the day before Halloween, so this is one of the fastest ones I've blistered out lately. It's kind of silly now, but I like the imagery, the coherence, and the flow. The only thing I'm unsure of now is the kick-out (and the message of it)...but hey, a song's a song.



As the wind kicks up it lights my clove
And there I sat upon the boardwalk and strove
To bite back my tears against the pier lights
I'm lost in the rolling blues that fill this night
Flowing out from the guitar pumped by the bar
The sound thicker than the smoke curling from my char
All in all, it's a beautiful night
But something is truly not quite right
For as the lights of the pier shimmer orange upon the waves
I'm sitting and dripping ash and tears upon the page
See there's a hole beneath my arm where you used to sit
And everywhere the tide goes it takes my tears with it
This afternoon I sat and watched the ocean, peaceful foamy blue
And both times, I was just kissing a cigarette instead of you
I can sit in my jeans and put my toes in the sand
But I just want to put down my pen and pick up your hand
Now there's a silence in my day where I used to hear your laugh
Even wonderful things have an emptiness to remind me of what I used to have
That's why you're the first to hear when I pull out my phone
Because you're the one that feels like home
So everything that should be something new
Is like a bad copy of a time I already had with you
Anywhere anytime anyplace is just a clone
Of a time when I was there while your smile shone
As I sit and the smoke curls around my head
I can hear the things that you would've said
It makes it hard to be just your friend
When all day I ache to be yours again
Anywhere I go I can already feel you there
And all of my time is something I wish we shared
I sit on this beach with a clove to enjoy
And I just dream of a future where I was your boy
Knowing that life with you by my side
Should be the truth rather than this beautiful lie
It's amazing that you'll be on the coast of Spain
But here on this Cali shore I'm dying just the same
So as my thoughts fly to the town of Alicante
And my mind is filed with the chords of John Frusciante
The wind burns my clove all the way to teh embers
I push myself to forget to remember
And I try to pretend that when the sun rises on a new day
That I somehow will snap and feel okay
Even though the space where you used to sit will feel the same
And the tide takes my tears with it but not my pain

Battlin'

I feel stupid about the way I acted for those 36 hours immediately after finding out, but I'm proud of myself that it was only 36 hours. I don't regret the questions asked--both answered, and not--but I do regret the way I asked them. I want the answers, but I could've been a lot more tactful and a lot less weepy. I think I was just shocked at my own stupidity.

It made this week interesting--in fact, it jacked investment in all of my own classes. I read my kids poems (that I decided to write for them, and will post when I get back), took time to tell them they were special, told them about myself, and rap battled some of the 8th graders. When I told kids why I taught, and told them I had cried over them--because I was proud of them--I had kids leave the class in tears. It blew their minds. One class, I took the time to tell every single kid a few wonderful things I had noticed about them. They went late to lunch and didn't even give a shit. I don't know if they respected it, but I have never seen any of my classes that dead silent for that long. And in just about every class, when ever the smart mouth would have a comment (in most classes, that kid was one of the ones who was shocked to find themselves crying), the other kids would shush them immediately -- "Yo, Mr. (x) is trying to speak from the heart. He's telling us some real shit!" When I told some kids how proud I was of them, they fucking lost it. It was incredible.

I told them about the kids from this summer, who were homeless and made me chug the TFA Kool-Aid; I told them about the things I knew about them; I gave them life advice. That day, a dozen kids I'd had in classes before lunch came to my room just to sit around and say hi. Not even to chat; just to be like "What's up? We just wanted to hang out." A girl who I've seen the suicidal reports on has been walking around grinning all week, and when she smiles, it's like the dawn, because it's genuine and hasn't happened all year.

As for the rap battles, I won, I lost, and both 7th and 8th graders now give me a whole new respect when I walk around. It was fun, and weird, and it's probably on YouTube at this point. I didn't really know the rules--one kid, when I started replying to him, was like "Wait, don't we just go once each?" to which I genuinely had to reply, beats me.

The school shut it down, when I tried to do it on the playground; but it was something out of a movie when I emerged from the teacher's lounge those two days, and 100 8th graders start tearing towards me from all around the playground, field, basketball courts, to come see what's going to happen. It won't happen again--they don't trust the kids not to fight, which seems nonsensical to me; they're weirded out, pumped, and enthralled watching a teacher and one of their own do this little dance, but I don't make those decisions--but it was fun, and it's something to talk about as a future potential to get the kids to buy in.

In any case, kids have been advancing, I have people at all levels moving at their own pace, grading is under control, and I found something ridiculously nice--spreading love to 250 kids only puts me in an exponentially better mood. It's a wonderful salve.

I'm going camping. :-)

Darkly Comical

Jesus, it's so deliciously cliched.
She won't reply, which could mean she's choosing to not speak to me.
I doubt it, since that's my idea, and she didn't want to do that.
She could simply be choosing to ignore an obnoxious question - It was Chris, wasn't it? - but I doubt it. It makes too much hilarious sense.

What a fucker. He's the opposite of me, like I already said. And it just makes sense--break up with someone, call up an ex for rebound sex. And she was in Seattle for several days before Melissa got there, so she had time when it wouldn't have been awkward for Melissa. Not to mention, several days to fuck.

And of course, it meant she went basically from my bed to a plane to his dick. Nice turnaround time.

The funniest part is that when I met her, she didn't like getting oral, didn't like the lights on, didn't even move during sex, and thought it strange that women were meant to get anything out of sex--the thought didn't occur to her, and it fucked with her when I pointed out that women ought to. And the guy who she was with before me--who presumably helped her build those ideas--is the guy she went back to. Awesome--I thought I had done something: Get her off, teach her to unwind during sex, to come from oral, and her instinct is to give those things to the asshole she'd been with beforehand. It's just funny. Him and his gauged dick.

It's like I can't necessarily get mad about it, and maybe that's part of my mood swings right now. But I'm like - "back to the biker with the tat you constantly made fun of, who hurt you and pissed you off?" Either I had no impact, (in which case, fuck it) or it didn't matter, and you loved him anyway (in which case, fuck it) or you just fell back on instinct (in which case, loss of respect, because I thought you were better than I).

It does mildly piss me off that she was sly enough to tell me to have her raw, so I would believe she hadn't been with anyone, so I got to lap up Chris' latex. And the fact that she was assuredly talking to him while she was still with me. But seriously? If keeping me in your thoughts means sending you beer in tubes, and being a dick to you most of the time we interact, then I'm not going to worry about it.

Stupid, Gullible Sap

I don't think I've ever felt so provinicial, simple, and boring as I did when I went through my phone ridding myself--and therefore seeing again--of reminders of her. The picture of her with a bobby pin in her mouth, hair pulled back into her fist, lips in a cocky take-on-the-world grin that she sent me while she was on the road in Cali made me feel like a teeny little ball of hick. After all, I saw that grin and felt happy for her. Now I realize that was the grin of someone who was free of me--who was on a trip that was literally and figuratively taking her away from me, of her own will and desire. And her doing something so wonderful and independent, as a literal manifestation of leaving me, feels like a slap in the face to any self-image I have as someone who is spontaneous, interesting, or desirable: "Hi, I'm leaving your boring self. This grin is me, without you, growing into myself and leaving you."

Last night, I just wrote exhausted and enraged, and then I sat and thought more about why I felt like an idiot.

It's because I thought for several months now that we separated for completely practical reasons--she'd be 2000 miles away, we didn't know when we'd see each other again, we both needed to work on ourselves, etc. All the texts, all the conversations, the whispered I love yous and the times when she seemed to be yearning for me gave me my stupid hope that she, and us, might just say fuck practicality, and be romantic--that we would take opportunities to see each other, that we would fly out during random breaks, that I would fly to Alicante, that we would meet in different cities when we had time, and we would be partners again, if ones that couldn't spend much time together.

I had no idea that we broke up because she wanted to. I didn't know that her love had faded, that she had wanted to move on.

I guess, if I wasn't such a sap, I would've read her polite euphemisms for what they were. For example, she said part of the reason she didn't want to stay together was becaus she didn't want to feel obligated to talk to me. I was so confused, because I felt like I wanted to tell her things regardless; I didn't see what a relationship status had that bore on our desire to keep in touch. In retrospect, it wasn't that she didn't want to feel obligated to talk to me. That's too specific. It was that she didn't feel obligated to me, and she didn't want to be obligated to me in any sense. She wanted to cut ties, pure and simple. Then she could stride around, and do whatever she wanted.

Second, she said she wanted to meet other people, travel, and grow. That doesn't even really need to be examined. What kind of dumbass believes that that isn't a nice euphemism for "I'm bored with you, and ready to move on?" Me, that's who.

So I could've been intelligent, and seen the signs for what they were.
I'm not, and I didn't.
I've never been left because someone actually just got tired of me. I was talking to Sky the other day about why our relationships ended.

I actually thought it was the case that my relationships have all ended largely because of distance.

Guess that's not the case.

And moreover, I wonder if I now know how Phyllis felt. Distance was an excuse, but not the real, underlying reason, as I later admitted to myself. I had just wanted someone who could be around, and so I tossed her aside.

Distance was a pleasant, polite reason for leaving me, but I was just tossed aside because I got old, stodgy, and boring. And I then spent three months making myself believe that she still wanted me, and that distance was the real reason we were apart. Hooray.

....I guess it's not quite as simple as that. She did still care some. After all, she called me when she parted ways with Melissa, and did just want to hear my voice. So she still cared some, I suppose (?). But that, I guess, is just the natural echoes of a relationship, that even the person who breaks it off must face.

After all, that probably happened after she spent time fucking someone else, so I was just a pleasant crutch to rely on--a hard ride, a hard day, and look, here's someone who desperately loves me who I can talk to make myself feel better. And if it hadn't happened after she'd slept with someone else, some of the other phone calls certainly did, because she was already back on campus. So she'd seen fit to branch out, and meet other people; she just needed a shoulder to cry on for when that got lonely.

Again, that's why I feel stupid. I'm not the person she wants. I'm not the person she loves. I'm not the person she wants to be with. I am the person that she can call when she needs some emotional support.

That's not at all fair to me, because she knows that I want her, love her, and want to be with her. I similarly lack emotional support, and get to rely on myself. The difference is that if I call her, if I reach out to her, it's reaching out to someone I wish I still had, whereas she can just reach out to an available reservoir of love. And it never seemed like an issue to explain to me that she didn't want me, that she didn't want to be with me, but that we were apart because she wanted someone else. Or everyone else, and just to be free. It was just easier to let me wallow and hope. She knew when she left Phoenix for Seattle

--Jesus, did she fuck Chris? Was that who it was? The thing that she told me she wouldn't do? I bet so. That would be just a cataclysmic perfect storm of "fuck it, I'm done with you"--she went and fucked the one person who she assured me she was no longer attracted to. I wonder if they'd spoken about it before she even left me.

Holy fuck.

I'm a stupid fucker, and I hate myself for wanting so desperately to believe that was the case that I bought all that shit. That I bought bad romantic comedy cliches as truth. I'm miserable, and I deserve to be this miserable this far out of the gate for not catching on sooner.

Naivete

I have been extraordinarily naive. I have spent the last three solid months pining after someone, wishing they would have me. How silly.

She was screwing people in California.

She said that doesn't include the horticulturalist, but, after all, she lied to me when she got back--Why believe her now? I would think it might include the kind 30 year old who just happened to let her crash at his place. After all, that's a bit strange.

And when I came back from Club Red, I slipped, and looked at her facebook photos. I wonder how many of those people had her.

If she could lie to me, and tell me she hadn't so much as kissed anyone, then what other lies did I believe? Not just in the last few months, but in the last two years? I mean, that's not exactly a simple lie of omission; that's a I'm-holding-your-hand-lying-in-your-bed-looking-you-in-the-eye-and-feeding-you-a-fucking-whopper. No, I didn't kiss anyone, I just fucked them. While I was thinking about how I didn't want you anymore. Sorry.

She trained for that bike trip on my bike, which she then gave me back, broken. She offered to fix it six months later. Thanks. And on my birthday, she sent me a 57 cent fart whistle. I'm glad you remembered to celebrate my birthday. In fact, I wonder who she fucked on my birthday. After all, we weren't together; but she was still sending me plenty of "I love you's" and "I miss you's" and "I wish we were snuggling" and "I miss your brain, J" type text messages. It's just heartwarming to know that the person you wanted to marry was still sending you loving text messages, and probably riding someone else's dick on you birthday.

Oh yeah, and she said I was "better." Physically, and...emotionally, I suppose? I doubt it. Why not feed the poor sap a little lie to salvage some of his ego?

I wonder what Debra's facial expression meant when she realized who I was. Probably pity; I'm sure she spent several hours laughing at my expense with E before E came over to my place.

Also, she had sex with me with no condom. Joyous. I wonder if I caught anything.

She said she's "currently revising" her opinions on hookups. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? I guess I'll ask her, out of morbid curiosity. She probably won't tell me, but that's just as well. It's not as if I really need to know who she's been fucking on campus, or as if it really matters, in any case. I do wonder what her mind's been chewing on in terms of her new "stance" on sexuality, if only because it seemed like a loaded term.

Also, I wonder if she's had sex with Sean. He seems a likely candidate, and I'm actually kind of happy for him.

I wonder if she felt sparks when she fucked people in Cali, when she screwed around on campus, and if she was telling the truth when she said she did when she screwed me, but again, it (a) doesn't really matter anymore and (b) why believe the truth about the latter? I suppose I should be glad I never called her phone and heard a guy answer, but it's not exactly silly to think that there wasn't someone lying next to her. Or doing the same thing I used to do--trying to make her give away the fact that someone was pleasuring her while she was on the phone. That's a fun thought--I wonder if she's talked to me while someone else has been inside her? Why not? She's revising her stance.

Subsidiarily, I shouldn't flatter myself and think that I was pleasuring her while she was on the phone.

You know what's strange? I remember when Amelia was in Spelman talking about how they were going to have a blast in their room next year, and then she (presumably) thought about how that could be taken awkwardly by me, and she gave me a strange look and then the topic changed. That facial expression popped into my mind, and my first thought was "Well, yup. That's happening."

My second thought is to wonder if Amelia knew then that Emily would be single by the time she got back to campus. Had Emily decided back then that she wouldn't be with me? That would make sense. I don't know why she kept playing with me for so long--for a TransAm trip, dating me, taking me to Denver....

Maybe just inertia. I can't blame her. We're all guilty of that. And that just means that her thought about "I don't really need to be with him" started back then--and she alluded to that on the phone.

Okay, fuck it. I am pretty annoyed that we spent weeks going back and forth about whether or not we were going to be together, and the whole time, she knew it wasn't going to last, because she wasn't interested in me anymore. She'd already told her friends that she'd be a single chica by the time she got back to campus.

So why did you keep leading my hopeful, dumb, puppy ass along?

I wonder if you've read this far; I wonder if you'll answer. I don't expect it; you didn't reply to anything else I wrote about you, other than to mention you read this, to which I can only presume that you were caustically amused or casually nonplussed by my suffering: "I read it. I'm surprised you're still friends with me." Did you enjoy knowing that I was still your lapdog, even after I'd felt all that? Did you give a fuck at all after reading the poem I posted last week?

If you answer, can I believe you?

Still Funny, But I Belong (Some)

The other day, Barishnakov made a wonderful observation. He pointed out that his litmus test for validity was still ringing negative--said litmus test being whether he still chuckled at the thought that his answer to "What do you do?" is "I'm a teacher," and he definitely can't keep a straight face--but that he feels that his classroom is his, as opposed to being a place that he trespasses upon and dons the disguise of a teacher. I gotta agree--I don't know that I'd still laugh at the self-identification of a teacher (I think my initial reaction is still, "Yeeah, I'm a teacher, bitch!" with a sarcastic grin--close enough to laughter), but I finally feel like my room is my room, and I'm not merely an awkward interloper there.



Before the break, I finally started doing some longer-term planning, and it made all the difference. I only got 90 minutes of sleep last night, and I'm sitting in hour three of six for night class tonight, but I'm no longer miserable about my job. Even late nights no longer feel like shoving my finger in a curriculum dyke, desperately patching together a Frankenstein lesson to throw at kids the next day, with no larger point. They may get late, and I still lack a life, but I feel like I'm functioning as a teacher (I didn't say I'm even adequate yet, but I'm functioning), and my lessons tie together--and the kids can tell. My life is no longer putting out fires, but ushering kids onto the next task, the next point.



It's paying off in so many ways. Many kids see me as someone to talk to; I see a sufficient number of kids every day, so fast, that they think I'm practically omniscient. A fight goes down at lunch, and by the time my next class comes in, I've already heard who started it, who won, how long it lasted, and the order of the landed punches. When kids run to tell me about it, and I can calmly list off a couple of basic facts in response to their breathless "Did you hear about (x)?", it just makes me seem (1) even more like a person who cares (2) even more like someone who you're going to tell about it, since I'm going to find out anyway (3) a sympathetic, or at least friendly, ear for their issues and problems. Kids tell me about their relationships, and even more amusingly, they tell me about each other's relationships. All of this gives me ammo and capacity to nudge them and josh them about what they've been up to, which helps build great relationships with them that I can rely on--to have them behave because they like being in my room, rather than because I'm going to browbeat them and call their parents if they don't.



Case in point--one kid came in with a massive Band-Aid on his neck on Monday. I was walking to the copy room during my prep when I walked by a classroom with an open door and spotted him across the room; it seemed the most natural thing to pop my head in and make a perfectly audible comment for the benefit of the class at his expense, something along the lines of "What, haven't you ever heard of a frozen spoon for a spider bite like that?" The class had a quick belly laugh, and went back to work; more respect earned for me. The kid's neck is now wrapped in Band-Aids; he needs to control someone--but it's been good for diffusing class tension or energy for a week now.

These relationships come about because my lessons now contain time for them to work, which gives me time to run around, help individuals, chat with other kids, hear about their problems, etc.

All of that, plus convincing them to do more meaningful work, means I see them as individuals. They've been writing the most absurd and touching things--they write essays wishing for money so they could help their parents pay the bills; for magic to fix the economy so daddy can go back to work and be happy again; that their parents will get back together, so they don't have to miss mom/dad so much; that mom/dad/uncle/brother will get out of jail because he's not a criminal and they miss him.

(Keep in mind, they also write about how their families tell them they're too young to know about love, but they know better--they've been dating for two weeks now, and this time it's forever! Forget that their last boyfriend is laughing with the current one in a different class about how he hit it and quit it - keep in mind, these are 13-year-olds - they know what love is, dammit. Or that plenty of kids three wishes included an Xbox, games, and a trip to the local pizza parlor, for the big dreamers. But hey, you take the touching with the juvenile.)

I felt better in the last few weeks before break; I've felt near imperturbable since break. They can be angsty, loud, etc.; barring when they are so loud it gives me a quick headache, or on a day like today (where they're talking notes, I'm modeling what they're going to do this week, and therefore talking alot to each class) when sidetalking gives me a headache because I've got to raise my voice, I really am not bothered by their antics. They swear, they clean; they yell, I throw them out; I call their parents, and for many other things, I just make fun of them. I make faces at them, I laugh at them, I do awkward dance imitations of their demands to go to the bathroom--in short, I act like a nut, and frequently, they have literally no idea how to respond, which I think defuses a lot of situations.

When a teacher gets heated back at you, it's easy to escalate. When a teacher sticks his tongue out at you and makes fart noises, its hard to maintain an air of imperiousness--at a certain point, the entire class is watching the strange writing teacher make faces at you, and it's no longer cool.

At a certain point, it just hit me on a more fundamental level--they are fucking short. And they know it. Many, many problems are ended with a simple "I'm sorry, I think you have a problem, but I can't tell what it is. You're too close to the ground. Try again when you're tall."

My classroom is pretty clean most days.
Expectations, assignments, and requirements are posted everywhere.
Student artwork is appearing on the walls.
I have running jokes with different kids.
Most of the 8th grade (and the 7th grade, I'm sure) thinks I'm gay--they have noticed the hair, the piercings, the bracelets, and the fact that I don't like it when they hurl "gay" as an insult (not that I let slurs of any type slide), and filled in what to them seems the only logical solution. When fall break came around, and I went roadtripping with a fellow (male) teacher through Cali, they made the second "logical" leap and assumed that we were dating. (It doesn't help, of course, that he and I are both hippie-esque and came back with bracelets from the same hippie shop.)
I am exhausted, but I don't hate it.

And the most baller thing? I've finally gone through all of their diagnostic essays, and entered in the data on their skills at the start of the year. We worked for awhile on random, stupid shit. Then we worked on vaguely tied together shit, some of which I decided belonged in a so-called unit on fixing our sentences. They took that test--and everyone went up. Class averages, individual scores, and one ELL kid scored proficient who was practically eating his pencil in confusion two months ago.

I don't know how much it was effective teaching, how much it was just practice, or how much it was luck. But damn does it feel good to see their proficiencies grow--I just feel cool about it. And when I broke it down for them today, they did to.

I'm even optimistic about something else--my goal for the year was to push class averages to a 4 out of 6 on each of the six writing traits. 4 represents that the students have met expectations for their grade level. We've only worked on one of those traits so far - Sentence Fluency - and one of my classes has already cracked that bar, with months to go. Sentence Fluency was their single worst trait on the AIMS last year, and on their diagnostics, so I wanted to tackle it first and longest. The other seven classes are all working steadily towards that 4 as an average, and I'm hoping that the current unit on organization will push them over that barrier. The single remaining biggest problem they have is run-on sentences. Fixing those would easily push kids who score a 2 to a 3 (or higher) and could push the kids who are 3's and 3.5's over the barrier into 4 and above, because they would then be able to exert greater control over complex sentences. I'm hoping that teaching them to organize their thoughts will train them to identify separate thoughts--and thereby put them into different sentences--rather than simply run together their stream-of-consciousness writing into a mass of words where the periods are more or less haphazard.

Cracking a 4 on Sentence Fluency by Christmas? That would be piiiiimp.

Part of me wants to tell the kids that the top class will get to cut my hair. But I may let that shit grow for a long time, so I can't let 'em cut it--but oh, what motivation would that be! Decisions, decisions....

Silly Bitch, Happiness Is For Kids

(Yes, the "bitch" refers to me)
Well, hey. Bluntness always solves the matter. It came in regular Espeak, but the upshot of the words was

Yes, I still love you the same way most of the time.
No, I don't want anything with you. I miss some things from our relationship, but I don't miss the basic elements of how I felt as a person with you.
Also, I still think of you and feel love for you, but onlyy in old stale places where we used to be. New things and new contexts push that away.
(Gee...those lines I wrote about her seeing me as static rather than dynamic ring sucker-punch to the nuts-true right now, I must really seem like a fucking lunk if I seem that inadaptable)
--Whereas, new contexts make me burn for her. Not this daily trudge which constitues much of my time; I like the emotional independence I didn't have before, which I gain from dealing with that shit on my own, from building my own emotional reserves. But a beach, a concert, rock climbing--they all make me miss her, and appreciate her for the things I could see her adding to the situation. I miss her in new contexts for the chance to share that experience with her, to build and grow together. I love trying new things, but I just witness people in them and have the consistent realizatioon that she would be phenomenal in that context--and that I wish we were partners for that ride.

I gained the knowledge in college
that no sea of willing p
could help me to be
can give me what I need to have
your eyes your smile your laugh
your breath your touch
I miss 'em so much
your spirit your smell
lost both and I'm caught in hell
sobbing and drunk sober and bitter
planning pointless pathetic plots on the shitter
now I'm a brokenhearted shitty ass poet
I'm a dumbfuck ugly fuckup and I know it

Is it better to have loved and lost
than never to have loved at all?
I don't know I can't and I won't make that call
I'm so glad for what we had
but now you've left and I'm feeling so bad
I've heard that ignorance is bliss
and now that I know what life is like with you
what the fuck am I supposed to do with this?
It's already happened
I know your kiss
loved and lost? I've met you
I can't forget you
I refused to say you're lost
want to believe that you're just taking your time
wandering footloose before you come back to be mine

But I'm stupid for thinking that
By now I should've learned
that you're never coming back
I was silly for thinking such things
living in another stupidfuck hick dream
one i've reached before and got shot
once again, what I thought it was, it was not
that we're in different places
could give me a small hope
but that's just another length of rope
to hang myself and choke
different places is what proves we're done
because i've been there before
took the route of fucking till sore
trying to get someone out of my system
it never really cured the pain of missin' em
she said before she left that it felt good
to bear someone's weight again
and it cut because "someone" could be any of many men
and there's no need for me to be a single one of them
it was nonchalant but it cut deeper than I can find
because I hadn't known I wasn't what she wanted in her mind
I don't think passion ever completely fades
but what separates it from love
is that it dims through the days
and she told me straight to my face
that's what would happen to our feelings
said it after, as I'm lying staring at the ceiling
said it had already started, even before we parted
not the first time she laid a bomb on me
after she hopped off me,
left me empty and broken-hearted
she realized it wasn't me when I was fighting for her
that's when she knew I wasn't the one
guess that's what you get for trying
---bad move, son
and I shouldn't've held on, I should've let go
I hadn't figured it out then, and now I know
she thought my reactions were forever
thought I was static that I'd always be the same
but I'd sat thought, and independent of her, had already begun to change
back she came pleasantly surprised
but my chance to shine in her eyes
has passed, that's how time flies
so it was ever really there
it's not now, our future we wont' share
so while I'm growing up and
shedding my need for affirmation
I get to learn about giving up
and accepting dissatisfaction

Fuck.

I'm screwed. I think the shittiest part was hearing that new things help her forget, and comparing that to how new things remind me. This can only end in shit. How silly is it to want to see her over Thanksgiving? How drastic is it to not, and ensure that I go a year without seeing her outside of a New Jersey news segment (immediately post being partners and definitely during still being in love with her)?

The Ballad Of Joshua Tree (Finally) (AKA, "Thank You, Friends"

So, this one was six weeks in coming. And while I felt good writing it, I felt rather narcissistic rapping it for Alex and Rob (haven't done it for Fiona yet); it felt weird to write something so long, as if it presumed that anyone would want to hear me for that long a period of time. The thing has three verses and a half, after all.

One thing I've been thinking--I don't presume to be very good, and I wonder how good my stuff reads, since I mean for it to be done in specific cadences. I also wonder if those cadences seem natural when the words are read. Thoughts? Guess that's what practice is for.

Anyway, here it is. It's meant to be slow burnt, for the most part.

I'm ashamed to stand up here and spit
Anything I say is going to be shit
Three nights and two days at Joshua Tree
Just two cars, a tent, my friends, and me
I was in awe at the things we saw
The time we shared was beyond compare
It seems absurd to put it in words
To encapsulate it all, from the beer to the birds
But how can I not give it a shot
This is how I give back the love that I got
And when I sat out there under the stars
I was inspired to write a few bars
To tell you how we conquered stones
and cliffs like ice cream cones
and the bleached granite bones
of evil dead men
we would mount them
and when we stopped to rest
we could smell smoke and rain
and feel the earth in our chests
We watched clouds like the pillars of God
thicker than the beard of Agamemnon
heavy and pregnant as a promise made ready to break
lighter than the wisps of a dream before you wake
They were beautiful
We watched them build and spill, blend and mix
that moment was like pulling myself out of the river Styx
I felt the scene start
to heal the hole in my soul and heart
Sitting there beneath a burning russet sky
I was finally pushing back the fire of love pushed aside
and for that,
I need to thank you, friends

At J-Tree was when I was forced to face a fear of my own end
It began with the Bong on the Blob, a 5-5
didn't know I was supposed to stay alive
first trip AKN jumped on lead belay
so Fiona could step up, and make her way
Fi scrambled up, no sweat
did it anti-grav, like Bo' Fett
Rob went up next to clean the pro
the two make it seem like an easy show
Rob rappeled down, to hand me a harness
saw the look on my face assured me it's harmless
but I don't believe him
and Narvell gives me a reason
She's climbing slower and when she hits the crux
she gets stuck and almost fucked
her leg starts shaking and when she calls for help her voice is breaking
thirty feet below I can hear her heavy breathing
and in the pit of my stomach I've got a bad feeling
But then she finds a pinch
and she gains an inch
and then another
now the top is right above her
and she's there.

And it's my turn.

My stomach's churning.
I'm getting wrapped and strapped and I'm tying the knots
I take a deep breath and hope for the best but my nerves are shot
only make it a few feet before I slip
my foothold doesn't work, and I lose my grip
I'm on belay so I only fall a few feet
but freefall feels like forever when you think you're dead meat
Then - of course - the rope's catching
I'm on the end, dangling and retching
bleeding and crying
thinking of dying
thanking God and loving Fiona
stinking and sweating and smelling ammonia
But I know I'm going to live
so I'm feeling a bit empowered.
and i've always believed quitting is for the cowards
so I try a half dozen more times
but I can't make the climb can't beat the crux
I've got no skill, no clue, and no luck
on top of it all, apparently, my shoes suck
So beforew we go anywhere else
I hit town and rent shoes for myself
We head back to the desert
back to the hills and dust
I'm going to make it to the top or bust
We scramble through brambles and over boulders
stumble across a rattler and give it the cold shoulder
Finally we make it to the climb
the others do their thing while I recline on a rock and rhyme
but when I get up I'm not feeling too great
my ankle is sore and won't support my weight
And there it is--a way out
a way to beg off and no one will know I'm a lout
I think hard about taking it
but I know I'll know I'm faking it
fuck it, I'm going to earn myself some pride
Gonna bite back the pain and rediscover what's inside
so I push my fingers bloody back into the rock
but shoes or not I'm still racing the clock
will or not my hands and arms are old news
push as I can try as I might this wall I can't do
Halfways is all I got, feet done arms shot
But I tried
I looked inside my mind
found something to turn back the tide
of inferiority and self-doubt
my inner well of power, of fire, of fuck you - I let it out
So I'm tired and bleeding
but it's that good pain of not kneeling
tomorrow's another day and I'll make the rock pay
I'm still not going to look down
and see how far below is the ground
No, I don't totally trust in the rope
but I'll be damned if I'm gonna choke
So when I feel myself slip and start to scream
I'm gonna turn it to jet fuel and ride it up the seam
The next day we drove out to the place
the sun's just breaking over the rock's face
and when it's my turn
I'm more than ready for the burn
I slip on my new shoes and tie the knots myself
fuck my eyes that quarter-inch ledge is big as a shelf
I'm flying up the rock, willing to toejam and flag
gonna hit the top, this shit is in the bag
see I'm moving like a girl
the beaner at the top is gleaming like a pearl
I don't know how it happened, I know I made it
I know I wanted, saw, and craved it
My shirt's flapping in the wind
I'm grinning like a fool because I didn't break or bend
It was a feeling of triumph I'd never had
--yeah, look at me, I'm bad
I wanted to prove it twice
so I moved to the left and did it again
and for pushing and cheering and showing the way: I just want to thank you, friends

You're two thirds newfound and all on whom I can depend
We never showered and our laughter flowed like waterfalls
Murdered idyllic days and held hands while we watched the sun fall
We ate loaves of bread and beat back hordes of ants
scarcely did we think to wear anything so stupid as pants
we bore the burden of a disease known as fat kid syndrome
yet any challenge faced we laughed and yelled "come get some"
we relied on the skill of a few and the will of the rest
the ability to cook in a fire lie in two but an appetite in all four chests
at first we crammed sideways in a tent
when things got sweaty some of us got up and went
the next night we'd say fuck it and lie under the stars on a pad
i'd be a bitch and feeling kinda sad
while the tiny ones are dry humping behind Alex kinda bad
now, AKN and I aren't getting mad
they may be grinding with no shame
but we think it's kinda funny just the same
we spent the night killing Newcastle brews
standing atop rock piles chugging with no shoes
night and day, we're building bridges outta cards
twelve years later the ladies stop talking, and the beating starts
never fear we can retaliate in the form of neverending farts
middle of the day we might be slugging fat blue bulldog
bright and early in the morn Rob and I tear off on a jog
I"m sporting shorts from my sis that almost show my log
Sprinting back to camp for mate to clear the brain fog
Now, we gotta coupla headlamps
to help us in the dark like punch-drunk champs
By their light bags of punjabi we make
we're adding two pounds of cheese to make it dank
we're sittin and sippin and gettin silly
rob and i are laughing and chugging turkey chili
tearing ass and ripping jokes until the ladies are begging please
and you'd be astounded how Kobe takes the lane after that amount of cheese
amidst all this silly talk
fi still beats a boulder with just a bit of chalk
and were there any question in our mind that these nights were ours
then Zeus erased them -- when he led us to the place
ripping apart the sky only before the way we faced
with that light to guide our cars
we knew this surface of mars
this wonderful land -- it was ours
and for that, and everything besides, I want to thank you, friends

See, you're all just a godsend
for I can look down the barrel of my week
and know it's been awhile
since I didn't feel stressed and stretched
halfway down the green mile
since I was head above the bullshit
wore a happy, genuine smile
but out here, it's plastered on
the kind you get from great laughs and shitty wine
from dumping cheese in your indian food and
not counting the seconds that pass time
for that
for cheering
for pushing showing laughing
for being there
for reminding me
for the memories
---I want to thank you, friends

From a Rockin' CMA group

I wrote this one Friday for the group meeting teambuilding sort of shindig during Institute, to celebrate my CMA group:

First group to help Fria beat the test
Will rolls in with the family crest
Dan the wolf with the Siamese toe
Andrew comes in to steal the show
With Yoda from Tulsa there's Bubalo
Free from the cast I hit the flo'
Got up in the morn' came back for mo'
Dorna descended from Mo-ha-mad
Together we three form The Bomb Squad
Mick comes at you with the law degree
Grinnin' and bearded there's Mr. Magee
My got the commercial you need to see
R Squared and My do the 3 English
6105 with the non-tradish
Kim from Nebraska gon' shred the corn
Bernex not French gon' blow the horn
Evan parks the car at the Hahvahd Yahd
All four teams gon' teach the Bard
Led by Sarah who rocks the cage
Now here's Dorna to take the stage!

Chunk II

Another chunk; I was sitting around naked and inebriated and wrote this last week. Then I passed out, and since I just fired off a few posts, I want to record this nugget of amusement to improve my mood some more.

I don't need a tease
I'm just begging you please
I'm down on my knees
I been smoking some trees
I can't give you no cheese
I just need you to seize
My dick and ride like the breeze
I wanna move and change the way you breathe
Circle my dick like a Christmas wreath

I think that last part tells you I was really straining for a metaphor there. Oo boy. Alright, back to grading the idiots.

Chunk

I look back down the barrel of my week
and i know it's been awhile
since I didn't feel stressed
and stretched halfway down the green mile
since i didn't feel like i was drowning in bullshit
and I worre a genuine smile
but out there it was plastered on
the kind you get from great laughs and shitty wine
from pouring cheese in your indian
and not counting the seconds that pass the time
and for that
--I want to thank you, friends.

Release (Anger)

In light of that, I think I'll share another rhyme I wrote. I think it might be part of a song, or a suite, or something, on the same topic of rhyming as release. This one's about getting out anger.

From my brain to my fingers flies my rage
Through my pen dripping venom and blood upon the page
That I might wrap it in words, and spit it on a stage
For times when I think fuck your firearms
I wanna throw open my arms
and light up the world with some napalm charms
Ready to unleash the Langoliers to eat the world entire
Kick you on the flames of my unholy ire
rake the coals of the world's funeral pyre
and piss on your ashes with what's left of my Fat Tire

It's what you see on my face when baby seals need to die
The reason people on the street fall back from the look in my eye
They see the truth
They see my father there
Know that I can rip break rend and tear
And fuck shit up like a rabid bear
See, I've been there before
Let the fire run it's course
And burned my world like Horus
Gave rein to the demon in my veins
Moved maimed and created scenes of my friends scared and disappointed
My family shorn and disjointed
And from the pain I've caused
I stepped back, checked a mirror
and realized I must fight not to be flawed
For there is a thing inside me
I must take care not to let free
But must ensure I eradicate
Take ahold and suffocate

So when I feel like my clenched hands
could spit bullets and my veins sarin gas
That feeling empathy requires crisping
even the bugs in the grass
That being a fireball seems
a satisfying solution
and the smiles on passing bystanders
warrant bloody contusions
Then I could turn it on my self
Push my body til I vomit
Ensure the blood spilt is my own
Pour out the sake and bomb it
Or I could harness the fire
Put on some music that screams
Yoke the devil and ride him
to achieve my dreams

But there's two things I found
One it bites back it consumes
Gives great strength only to park you in the tombs
And that piss and vinegar, bombast and will
don't solve it all in the end
Like a bridge at some point you gotta bend
To solve the problems you seek to fix
Gotta pick up the peace pipe
Put down the stones and sticks

So instead of giving in to the urge
to grab your throat and cause asphyxiation
I choose to rip out my heart like exsanguination
Flay my skin like Hiroshima exfoliation
And through this pen give throat to my imagination

It gets me through
Gives me a vent
a place to point
to where all the rage went
that I can steel my spine
take my life and make it mine
a release to cleanse my mind
release