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

Alternatives

The inspiration for this piece came while I was driving home from that first mic in Glendale, where I popped my cherry with Disney's Necrophilia. I wrote a few thoughts, and ended up finishing it by my pool a few days later--that was the day I found myself eating pb & j waffles naked, and drinking tequila. I thought it would be more constructive to add margarita mix to my tequila, put on a swimsuit, get some air, and produce the following fairly untitled piece.

There's something I want to tell you
Something that got caught in my mind
Something to ponder when I'm stuck in the grind
And maybe, probably, you won't give two shits
But what I'm thinking about is the fact that the universe splits
That space and time divide
Every second everything that could happen does happne
Different world are born and never collide
If you flip a coin it lands twice
One world its tails, in the next its heads
Here you exist, but
a million other places you were born dead
So listen to the words I shape from my breath
Because what I want to speak of is death
Every syllable that flies off my tongue
Is a universe where you didn't bite a gun
There's a billion of those
And a trillion where you chose
To jump from that bridge
You never made it here, and that's fine
Because last Friday I had another beer
And a million worlds out of three
I didn't see the stop sign
All of this hit me one night
while I was driving down Grand
a headlight bounced off my mirror
and splattered on the back of my hand
and it was just a flash
but elsewhere it was a crash
and another again the light of a meteor
falling from the sky and crushing my car
across two miles of earth
a reverse violent birth
to send me from this world to the next
and the strange thing
is that
this.
is.
comforting.
Why?

Because if time so splits
then I can think to myself
that
there's another world where I can respect myself
and
in that world my nuts aren't dried on a shelf
and
in that world she didn't fuck someone else

Disney and Necrophilia (Cherry Popper)

Heyo, coming back from under a rock. I'm going to start adding some of my writings to this, too. Here's one I wrote at the first open mic I went to, ever. At Words in the Alley in Glendale, I was inspired enough to sit down and write this poem in a few minutes, and then rap it to the group of people whom I'd never met, subject matter aside. There was an awkward silence, a few laughs--and then they clapped and invited me back for the next one.

Do you ever wonder why
the movies we show our kids
fresh off their Similac
have so many men
who just so happen
to be necrophiliac?
You'll never guess what happened today
oh, dear diary
I was out kissing dead girls
and one sat up and smiled at me!
Hey there handsome, my name's Snow White
And I don't know, lets get married, it just feels right
Last week my friend Charming went and tied the ball and chain
With that fresh undead sleeping beauty dame
And before you ask, of course I said yes
There is the unfortunate fact that White has breath in her breasts
But I just went from perverted peasant to kinky king
And though I'm not about the scepter ring
Those royal catacombs got so mnay places for my ding-a-ling!