How do I perfectly illustrate the fact?
There are no beautiful secret women anymore. I know every single one, and worst of all they know me. There is no loving from a far, no fawning over. There is a list I keep inside of my head, warding me away from those who are cute, but nuts. I don’t want to objectify, but the well has run dry. There are no kids that get my humor anymore, if they ever really did. I suppose in past years I was too distracted with those who got it and could perform it.
I turned to my friend after we had finished watching the Hurtlocker and sang along with the metal guitars which accompanied the credits and sand like nickelback”,Irack war, it’s Irack, we’re soldiers what? Fightin’ in the war! War soldiers, a combination of soldiers.... in the war.” He stared at me with awe, it was a stupid joke, but he probably didn’t even recognize that.
Hockney said to me the other day how she would like to here me play the banjo for the class sometime. I thought to myself, what would the lyrics be?
“Special Topics! It’s simple math, but I suck at it cuz, I suck at math!
That girl is pregnant and that girl is fat,
and she works at taco bell and she never shuts up,
and I felt like my job had come full circle when she came into Walgreens to buy her first pack of cigarettes (I had always sold them to her mother).
And she’s really fat and loud.
And fuck this class.”
The lyrics didn't Rhyme though.
We had to pick a poem today for English. This is where we take a poem analyze it for a page, etc. We do it at lunch and mine usually contains a picture or a funny title, but more and more I just get pissed off and it’s insulting. Today i just grabbed a picture off Hamm’s bookshelf. It was a copy of some poem Austin wrote and I typed up a page on it.
I sang a song for the student teacher in Euro.
I made a 120 slide cartoon during CTA.
“I wrote a hit play and directed it, so I’m not sweating it either.”
-Max Fisher
I know I'm months away from road trips, yard sales, girls, college, literature, new music, ryle in the AM, but I can still predict every school day. Where I will be, who I will talk to.
Tomorrowisfridaytomorrowisfridaytomorrowisfridaytomorrowisfridaytomorrowisfridaytomorrowisfriday
and tomorrow is Monday.
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oh man...that poem...ughh...he insisted that I leave it, framed and all, on his bookshelf. I don't even remember what it says. Probably something terrible about how I skipped school all the time to binge-eat and grow to love Italian neo-realism. Because that was the last half of my senior year. I. did. nothing.
ReplyDeleteSpecial Topics was the bain of my existence when I was at Ryle. Mrs. Hockney is like the culmination of every polyester skirt sequined vest-wearing sub par teacher I had in high school.
ha it was something like i awake in the desolation of winter. Winter is like cold as Loneliness is like bad (not good).
ReplyDeleteKim, yeah, kim we can all hear you announcing the pledge to the flag. What? Whats that? your son is in Iraq? Is that why you announce the...
ahhh... i see.
I literally lol-ed.
ReplyDelete