death toll

sunk into myself. my head is empty because i fell into myself, lost my footing and slipped. hollowness and thoughts bouncing off the walls. sometimes i just let go, when no one is around, when it just isnt worth being so damn conscious all the time. some idle pitchy tinny song echoes between my ears, like headphones, playing somewhere in the space between them. tonight just isnt worth it. just threw up a little, in my throat. cant quite bring myself to the surface. dont quite want to.

sixty thousand people and the toll is rising. it is a death toll because people paid with their lives. just some random geological event, predetermined, god knew it when we were all conceived. not so random. digging graves by hand. rising every second. just like the waters. the toll paid in blood. but as for me, somewhere between - under - it doesnt hit home. this isnt here, this isnt my life. i drove over ice to the bowling alley today, nobody died. no death toll. elliott smith and some random tune bouncing through my head. dead. one. unless i change the channel, nobody dies. if i look out the window late at night, lazily and tired from my bed, from my pillow, in a ball under five sheets i can see the outside. the cold, dead, space between my window and the snow. angry air, ghosts. the snow-dipped earth reflects orange back at me. glows, artificial luminescence from some light pole off in the right wing. halfway up the cul-de-sac the light gives way, a thin black line and darkness giving way to a dull, perfect, natural blue glow. magical chemicals in the white snow glow blue in the moonlight, artificial luminescence from some moon off in the sky.

then i roll over

i cant remember the last time i told anyone i loved them

merry christmas story

i knew when i sat down that if i didnt post right now, if i waited just one minute that i wouldnt do it. i am so damn lazy yall. its killing me... the christmas holiday i just want to sleep it away. saving silverman is on, the world is not enough just ended (never liked it, the sean connery james bond flicks are the best) and i have on a new wake forest hoodie. yay. it is going to be a crying shame if i dont get in... sent off the application a couple days ago.

chrismas is a strange time of year because in my family people get so inherently happy that we all are friendly to each other. this is an oddity. i have gone the entire day without a single altercation or bad vibe between myself and my sister and i think with my sister and parents as well. this doesnt happen very often. everyone is in a genuinly good mood. the entire family drunk on chrismas spirit... and gifts. and wine. italian wine.

i am impure, bad i tell you. i need to stop this. cant say it.

theres something i need to write about, i need to talk about, that i just cant right now. i just wont. not fit for mass publication, personal. some things just mean too much. i dont feel like making it so vague as to not give too much away - just enough. ill keep it to myself, my own feelings and desires and pains.

on the other hand, theres something that does need to be said. understandably, christmas makes most people mellower and friendlier but it is meaningful when things happen. or just meaningful to me, most times i am the only one to see things in a different light but maybe you can appreciate it too. yesterday - christmas eve - i was taking about three hundred pounds of newspaper in the red wrangler to a middle school down the street to be recycled. i do this pretty frequently and theres never been anyone else out there. well this time there was an old lady out there unloading some paper by herself so i just slowly pulled around in a circle and eased up behind her silver chevy 'classic' - the now-deceased late model chevy malibu in cheap, fleet car trim - and stopped. now, i forgot the cd player face so i didnt have any music playing but i hadnt showered yet so i just had on a black hoodie and a blue toboggan, otherwise just a white kid in a jeep but the world as a whole is so evil today... all i could picture was myself as some druggie white punk pulled up to terrorize some old grandmother unloading papers. i hoped not. i walked around to the back and popped open the gate, unlatched the rear plastic and unzipped it a couple inches so i could slide the paper box free and thought to myself, hmm... i should offer to help dump her papers - but didnt. i am a social coward. meh. so i just stayed to myself but to my surprise, she addressed me.

she said something, there was no one else around so i assumed it was to me and walked out from behind the jeep and said, 'excuse me?' or something. she asked if i had papers too. i told her i did and she said she would leave the big green bin lid open for me. (awww) so i said, 'thank you ma'am'... polite at least. i wanted to be nice to her, to not proliferate old people being scared of white kids - i dont even know if they are but it cant hurt can it? - and killed time behind the jeep till she climbed in her 'classic' and drove off before slipping back into the jeeeeep, cranking it, and letting that torque roll me up to the bin.

how nice, a christmas eve story.

now, this only means something to me because i thought it was awesome that the old lady would be so kind to me, if only leaving the bin lid open. come to think of it, i really should have offered to help her, i am a failure at being an eagle scout. its nice, though, to see humanity still functioning aside from appearance stereotypes, religious and resource wars, gang violence, racial tension etc. so something as small as an old lady being social to a stranger white kid in a 'boggan and hoodie is cool. least to me anyway. so try and remember that kids, its bound to have some practical applications eventually.

merry christmas all.

everybody wants to leave here

around the last corner of the train circuit of the meadow lights there is a pig. a relatively new set of lights that alternately bobs its head up and down and has a curly pink tail. it made me think of you. you know who you are, the one kid made me write tonight so... in a way this post is dedicated to you.

im aware, its been over a week. this isnt so strange, though, what with exams and christmastime creeping up on me - is it really time? - and i always have so much to say and always think of here but never take the time to sit and pound it out. always easier to rest by the fire and play guitar to myself through those old stereo headphones of my dad's. reminds me... i need more money to pay off that new one i am picking up after christmas. yum. i havent even responded to an email that i have been waiting for looong... damn me. and that book i was a third of the way through, they took it back because someone had requested it and i was late renewing it. the bastards. oh well, i got a new one. that and a backup of car magazines and wuthering fucking heights. jesus... so christmas is really here.

i shouldnt get off topic. even the last post i posted wasnt really a post at all... just some story that nobody commented on anyway, yeah thanks guys. big help you are. about meadow lights. every year the family takes an excursion that takes us to some amazing christmas lights show. tonight, we went to meadow. we left the house and as always, i started counting christmas decorations out my window of the backseat. sister had forgotten. it was almost sentimental when we started that old competition because, though it wont be, it felt like near the last time since i am going to be in college next year. we didnt stick around this time, though, and by the time i hit 55 (she was at 66) we were on the freeway. i had no idea where we were going and instead chose to look out the window at the sparse subdivisions along the highway through the trees and try to legitimately make out some lights or decorations. by the time we hit meadow thirty miles away i was in the lead something like 106 to 96. but what the hell, that holds no bearing in the bigger picture, so on to meadow.

apparently every year in this tiny little town they have a huge lights show complete with general store, snack bar, santa clause, and a train tour. i had no idea - and i cant get this fucking kenny loggins song out of my head. give me a number, please. going out of town you hit a big traffic jam where all the cars have their headlights off. you slow down to look and pass houses detailing the life of jesus christ. the manger scene, him preaching, last supper, carrying the cross, being crucified, rising from the tomb... the whole deal. meadow had to steal a helluva lot of mannequins to pull this off. jesus was made up to look deathly for the crucifiction, looked a bit halloweenish to me, creepy. sorry, jesus. real elaborate nice stuff and plenty of lights.

up ahead theres this huge parking lot filled with cars and people milling around and its cold as fuck and i have on a tshirt covered by a warmup jacket - whiffle jacket - didnt think we would be leaving the car at any point in time... wrong. dad bought us all $2 train tickets and we waited in line, in the cold, in the wind, thank god it wasnt raining... till we got on the train - a specially built lawnmover - and rode around as one of about four cars - there were three trains - around this four acre or so plot of land filled to the gills with lights off all kinds. more lights than i have ever seen in one place (almost). it was incredible and sad at the same time. ridiculous too. but enough about meadow. we stopped by the general store on the way out to see what was inside. by the time we got there it was pretty much cleaned out but there were still a couple hundred barrels filled with all kinds of candy there. old candy, stuff my parents remember. the entire place smelled like festering sugar candy, like you can imagine if a little kid got all sticky with hot circus peanuts, like that. nasty. we walked around and on the way out bought ginger ales. some german name. the girl that sold them told us they were hot, spicy hot. jesus, almost alcoholic. stuff bites, warmed my mouth and face all the way home. the girl herself was mannish, indian looked to be. friendly though. we tried to take the country highway home but somehow got lost. ended up in coats. but from coats we could find angier and knew our way home through fuquay etc. i love the country. i hate kenny loggins.

i almost wrote a song today, halfway there i guess. its hard work. workin weekends. workin hard. meh. its just four chords, one of which i made up, all similar, and one with a little riff to it. simple eh, but nice. if i could only write some wonderful random words i could take some overdrive into it and make a nice jam at the end. beautiful i know. something different than jack johnson and dave matthews anyway. a breath of fresh air really. you are welcome, world. i am ready to make a contribution.

as for the party, wonderful, and thank you lauren. it hasnt been my bag really, in the past four years, these events, but i hope more do come along. i didnt dance, rap music still isnt my thing but sitting out under the stars with broken andy and the wes' and whoever else was nice. it was refreshing to hear that some people have never been high and wont because they think it makes people look stupid, nice to hear that kids dont drink because they are driving home, being responsible in general. makes me feel a bit more normal being as clean as i am. a bit easier to say no, im staying straight tonight, driving home and all. not so unusual after all. though i did sample the drinks, jim beam and orange bacardi in coke, vodka in sprite, and whatever the hell you handed me, kid, when you were drunk, bacardi in coke id guess. not nearly enough to impair my driving - which was fine, thanks - but nice to be a part of anyway. i hope you ended up alright, you were a bit odd there for a minute. if you dont remember, i will fill you in sometime. waiting for a bonfire the whole while, until another kid arrived. riding around with andy and his foot in that car, crazy. and the cops didnt show. climbing up in the loft to throw wood down into the field just to be dragged off and lit. the entire field was so fucking dry i thought we would all die. actually i thought i would survive because i was sober. i should write a book, "all the drunkards will die". a song popped into my head... where to bad folks go when they die? they dont go to heaven where the angels fly, go to a lake on fire and fry. see em again till the fourth of july. i could see it. even when we dug a ring around the fire area twice. i could see one ash flying into a weed and setting the whole place alight. no way to put it out, just smothering it with empty beer bottles and dirt. crazy. wes' dream, a big fire - big, fast burning, hot, wonderful - a hundred people gathered around, couple jumpers, trucks and jeeps backed up to it. wonderful. willy and his girl taking a ride in the truck with the tonneau down, crazy. good times.

i called a kid i hadnt talked to in a long time, by the fire. just to say hello, just because i knew i wouldnt get her, just to leave a message beside friberg's jeep with some random bass beat rap song filtering through, just so she could wish she was there for once, just to say hello. and theres hardly anybody i wanted there or anywhere else i wanted to be. wander back up to the barn, that garage, that foyer with yall drunkards so funny. its hard to know whether drunk kids are kidding or not, so not used to being around them. stories of drinking and different alcohols and their effects, but no smoking. strange, i expected more out of that crowd. even the ones i didnt know. yall rock.

and wake won last night, dirty game, dirty place, dirty refs. everyone against us. the refs, the announcers, the fans, the opposing team, everyone. sucked... but we won. should look good to the selection committee when it comes down to the selecting. yes, i know. win at the pit is a good thing. worse than last year at the joel. dammit boy i hope i get into wake. i think i will. damn well better.

though, to accomplish that, must get the grades. which means midterms. and thats something i have trouble dealing with. sometimes, what i know is true isnt true at that time, when i know the process but cant do the math, when the test is in fucking french. jesus, where the hell is everyone? i have enough music to last the night. just added and tagged 255 songs to the mp3 last night. excellent, fuck ipods. go zens. i would get more hits if i made all these posts seperate instead of compiling them into such a large mass of nothingness. people hit when you post more, i guess each post is worth a good two to three just of random blog searching. though, my percentage of hits from this timezone has gone down, thats what i like, to be split throughout twelve or thirteen different ones. not just everyone here reading about my everyday life. nobody wants to hear that. shut it.

but what else has happened since pious lightbulbs? not much to be sure. midterms, no writing, nothing significant since thanksgiving. ah - i dreamed about this kid. frustrating. i dream about everyone eventually. congratulations to all those i have already gone through once or twice. strange, even though i dont know you. its christmas eve! as i type anyway, the post will read 11:01 but i have been typing far over an hour. i just set it there because i like the 11 hour much more than the 10, somewhere in which i started. by now i am just typing words to type words, nothing more than inflating the count, meh, doesnt matter to me. this is all going in a book someday. i should offer money to whoever reads this line just to see who does. did that once though... made a friend off it too. not tonight, though. just let me know. i will be pleased.

listen, i know we dont talk much anymore. whos fault is that? i dont know. i have reasons all saved up for that right moment when you ask why things are different now. i hope it hurts. and you, kid, why arent we friends anymore? you have your own life, i understand that, but does that mean you can just stop giving a damn about anyone else? well not everyone of course but me. i still care. deep down i do but i wont show it until i get the feeling you are ready to want this again. you are still the first name that comes to mind when people pop that common conversational question, still doesnt make a difference, you still know, depend on this. well let me tell you, its leaving, soon i will stop caring, you will have fucked it up, when i stop counting silver cars i wont even let you know.

everybody wants to leave here. looking at schools up in new york, california, boston, virginia, south carolina, wherever. talented class, to be sure but why not stay? i am. not that i really want to... i want to see the world, or at least the north and west. but i love the south and the schools down here. wake has the highest percentage of undergrads studying abroad of any major research institution. a big pull. im going to london, or vienna, or venice... eventually i will make it there. before med school and all anyway. between drinks, or among them. i always figured that i shouldnt worry about the now, i will find my soulmate in college. like that will happen. i might never find her, then what? do i settle? wish i had fought harder for the here-and-now? like that will mean anything in the future. doesnt work one sided, has to go both ways. no way, i know. fuck you and your movies, you and your boyfriend, everyone and their concerns.

indoor soccer with the girls was awesome. i love not hurting anyone but knowing all of them are coming after you with no mercy. societal gender constraints dont apply. that little one kicked me. its all fun though, i could do it every week. not as competitive and assholish as playing against other guys. some of my guys got pretty cocky, thought we will do well come january when we play our own league... fucking straight. we will get raped, i have no confidence, the last season drained it all. in outdoor, maybe. we are the boston redsox. indoor, no. no chance. not that they want to hear that. i had a shutout, just like the outdoor season, my career in soccer a shutout, beautiful i know. too bad such a low production season. wonderful though, i would give anything to have it back. another ten games. another streak. oh what i would give.

i see you pop back into brilliant black but dont expect, never expect you to show, to come all the way back, rather fade to gray again. like always. so typical. bitch.

daughter mary pt. 2

yes this story has already been posted... i know. this afternoon i sat down and revised it a good bit though, for some local writing contest. so its different... and better i think. i still hate it sometimes though. tell me what you think, leave a comment, something. cant hurt you know.

daughter mary...

Nasty light filtered through the crud smeared windows illuminating the larger dust particles meandering in three dimensions through the stagnant air in Mary Bivins’ father’s attic. Beetle shells and strings of dirt caked spider web littered the sill and stuck to the glass in quiet and reverent imitation of their recently departed father. The air, though stagnant from years of malnourishment from the world outside, seemed more of a living thing in itself. Warm and heavy it sat on cracked floorboards old but frozen in place through static eternities of disuse.

For two weeks it sat, the dust pristine and glowing brown sitting atop, around, and utterly permeating every relic in the room. Glowing in a manner that transcended its dirty roots because, given a bit of light, a casual soul passing through might say it resembled morning dew crowning blades of grass. Two weeks no different than the last ten or fifty or two hundred because no one cares to keep track of such things. The only difference was the slight lack of rustling that creeps up through those static floorboards; replaced by a silence more fitting for such a rustic environment.

And into such a glorious artifact steps Mary. Miss Mary Anne Bivins, who had shunned the house and all its contents since her father had passed two weeks earlier. There was no way to run from this, though, as all parents must die and their disowned possessions and earthly baggage must be taken care of by someone. She made it a point to think as little as possible about anything but figuring out a way to move her fathers belongings - this junk from the attic and out to… well she hadn’t decided where yet but somewhere. Because it had to be done.

Quiet places demand reverence. Mary found herself unable to utter a word upon crossing that threshold. Being alone, she had no reason to speak anyway, but to spite the situation and the attic herself she forced out a meek but resounding, “hi…”. The very sound of her own voice, though expected, shocked the poor woman and, though she wouldn’t admit it herself, scared her too. This is the kind of place souls live.

I hate this place. This is the kind of place ghosts come to die. God, this would be so much easier if Mom were still here. Mary, pull yourself together. One step at a time. Ugh, the dust is so thick it glows in the light… like dew littered on grass. The stairs don’t even creak. I can’t even hear my own feet for the dirt muffling my steps. Kind of feels like I’m floating.

Mary, in a red dress, tenderly but mechanically drifts up the steps, around the corner and into that room, softly tugging on the fabric over her thighs to keep from tripping herself. Suddenly blinded by the filtered light, she takes a long pause at the top step, waiting for some stronger man to carry her across this last threshold, to do this damn dirty business for her. Her senses collected, she moves quickly past the banister – can’t tarry now, must not let the room get a jump, let the nerves settle - and meanders across the room allowed to move only by small dusty areas of open floorboard segregated by a rusty bed frame and bags of old clothes never donated to charity. Disgusting, she can feel the maverick grime lifting and floating on an invisible rope, drawn toward her olive skin – the color pulled to the surface – by her static cling apparel. Dirty just being there, everything is so dank and brown and lacking of vivacity or life.

For the first time, she stood still a long moment and took stock of her surroundings. For the first time, letting her guard down, nerves slack, and taking in the aggressive tone and attitude of the room. There was a turbulence there, like some isolated energy – a storm? – had twisted and swirled through the room, buckling, breaking, beating, and toppling the unanchored, letting the dust feed on the remnants. Gave the eerie sense that some impoverished survivor was always lurking over her shoulder, though invisible to her strained eyes.

What am I going to do? My heart’s racing, great. Just what I need, to be freaked out by a damn room. I am not afraid of you! Hah – Mary – does no good in your head. Going crazy, kid. Sigh, there’s so much junk in here – ah – beds and mirrors, bags of clothes, boxes of old magazines. Jesus, this place is a damned mess. Slow, take it slow now… that’s better. I should just burn the entire fucking stock. Heh, yeah, dad would love that…

In such a setting, a perverted still life, it’s not uncommon for the mind to make things difficult. Kid turns right and is startled by – what? – nothing more than a stack of old briefcases. Normal except that she really should have noticed them before, they didn’t just appear, not here. On an old coffee table stacked crooked; a snail’s pace game of Jenga for gravity. Caked with the standard grit and grime and all. Seemed like everything in sight had formed a close attraction to it.

Why? This is ridiculous; of course it was there. Been there the entire time, you know it, now, no doubt. Wonder what’s in it? Not like the old man is here to stop me anymore. Don’t hesitate; it will kill you before long. Go now… I am forgiven. Thing’s not even locked…

Carefully Mary lifts the ratty old suitcase without creating a scene, turns a tight semi-circle on her heels to lift the plastic off an old floral printed ottoman, and sits down. Mustn’t break the tension. Wraps itself around the rust, ready to burst, to avalanche forth. Waiting for a little provocation, that’s all. Wary of her Sunday – bloody Sunday, I don’t have to do this anymore - painted fingernails, she slowly, but with effort, pops each sticky flip-lock and lifts the top.

Oh… my God look at this. Bleh, it’s just a collection of crap. Must be Dad’s old things. Wow, this must have been here for years. What’s this? Patch from the war, picture of Mom… ah, that must have been taken in the seventies. Why keep all this hidden away? I don’t get it. Most of this is just trash. A leaf… wow – why did he keep all this? More pictures of Mom. Wait no, that’s not Mom… is it? Strange, this is all so strange. Why haven’t I ever seen this briefcase before? He never mentioned it to any of us. Never brought it down, hell, he hasn’t even come up here in God knows how long.

It may be impossible to keep up appearances in such a place. As if Mary was suddenly comfortable with her surroundings, the damned place commiserated. No survivors, still plenty of secrets. Something shifted and she noticed the unnatural weight on her thigh. Unzipping this newfound, bulbous compartment on the inside of the lid, the air agitatedly escaped her lips. No less appropriate either.

What are all these pictures for? Stacks of them… Gasp! My God… oh! It’s me… He had a picture of me in here. But I never thought… I never thought he cared that much about me. He always paid Matthew more attention and John was the baby but me…. Just the middle child. I must be about seven – no eight – no this is my seventh birthday party. Ah – this is unreal. Why wouldn’t he show me this? Aw… what’s this? Where’s my little velvet box dammit? This is so cute, I bet it was for Mom’s engagement ring. Let’s see if anything’s in here. Shall I? Ah – come on. Ow! Damned thing is stuck. One more time. Here, it’s… a ring? Shit, it’s perfect. The dust can’t find it in here. Why here though? I don’t understand…

At a loss for thought fingering the jewel just as she was lost for speech arriving, Mary sits. For a short while time will cease in that dank enclosure and Mary will stay. Regaining a certain amount of composure, she will dry her eyes and sit up straight. Slowly close the case, lock it both sides, and carefully place it back with the others. She will pad softly back towards the stairs, over rusted bed frames and around bags of old clothes never donated to charity, wherever there is a space of old hardwood. She will stop at the top step and wipe her eyes, take a sniff and a glance at that lovely molding room and descend. Not thinking of her father, not thinking of anything at all for fear that it would all become too difficult too fast she will open the door, rest her forehead on it for a second only, breathe out, and close it tight. Walk away with a hand on her mouth and fingering some new revelation in her slick palm.

pious lightbulbs

fed the dog late tonight so i got to enjoy the cold. reminds me of a magic shell the way i can step outside and the night air freezes cold and hard on my skin. just the skin, just a shell-shock, not deep enough or enough time for it to be really... cold. cold-souled, which i might be but only in a metaphorical sense... que? dog was angry anyway cause its late and she knows it. its typical the stars are out for the chill. the chill's out for the stars.

stars, so honest. little pious lightbulbs spotlighting me. tiny gods all far off and critical. it hurts the way they stare back so richly and helpless i am, jesus, cant fuck with the stars... keep the rythm of my steps to the pulse of the three cell-towers on the horizon. wonder, we dont get service. nowhere id rather be than the bottom of the deep blue sea... why?

cause this room smells like cat piss. damn cats. at least one of them hides under the christmas tree so the other wont find it. im tired. still so much shit to do. im still not into college yet. slacker, i know. yall leave me here alone, its an all night thing. love is just like a movie. i feel like im losing sight in my left eye. hurts to know that.

i never have anything to write about anymore. natural beauty is wearing thin. except that i feel like i should start new years day and take a picture from my front porch every night of the sunset over the street and make some kind of coffee-table book from it. yeah that would be nice. god i wish i were elsewhere, up north, down somewhere. not thinking. leaning up against someone warm that appreciated that i was there. who the hell needs anything more? my shadows the only thing that walks beside me. i walk alone. sad eh?

i used to be able to put so many words on a page but not anymore. maybe something's changed. maybe me. its all blue. theres something wrong with me, jesus, such a basketcase...

keeping score

whenever i hear that song
or blink too fast... i can see you
a portrait in brushed aluminum
fuzzy dark flood of hair and eyes
desperate tidbits to despise

crawling back from the edge
did you visit just for fun?
venturesome but for nobody
you have touched too much
dirty for the stronger old crutch

holy insidious mother my past

dreams on a premium to steal
tell me was it real or did i
how much is it i have missed since then
blur of hair and brown eyes
corner my sight, a fresh reprise

can you tell me apart, lamb?
sunlight blinding behind photos
ghost and a devil posess the right
juxtaposed a flower virginal lilywhite
unsmiling, an eight ball's fortune sight

blink too fast, i give you that much
toes keep score, crooked lines drawn
how's the air? the view is lacking...
well, you... take one dirty step small
no broken arms to break your fall

lord almighty

and this i take it feels so good, i dont believe it all to well, back scratch now, cant you just leave it on the sidewalk, bags packed on a plane floating to heaven away. thats my interpretation. never can tell, though, can you?

i should apologize for not writing in so long but if it were to anybody it would be myself. im letting myself down. the rest of you are... well. i dont know.

lord almighty. i was reading a book not too long ago, possibly my favorite in a long, long time. thats a tough claim to make seeing as the caliber of my reading has skyrocketed over the last couple months but enough of a claim that it stands out in my head tonight. book about a drug-addicted mexican woman. i shouldnt feel rushed to the point but i am, else i might give too much away. she thinks that the earth doesnt matter. that you should give all you have now because god will give you back so much more in the end. that if people take from you, let them have it. because you wont end up shortchanged. its a refreshing change of pace aint it. problem being, she is dying and the main character tries to save her but really cant. because after all, what can he give her in life that will match the reward she has coming in heaven? so why be alive at all... just let go.

believe it or not there is a practical application. that is something i can believe in. as long as i can keep it in the forefront of my thoughts then its something i figure i can practice in life... for life. cause i have time to make a difference, i have time to give. it may not seem like much but it almost meant something real to me that after i read that, and was walking from third to fourth periods a kid randomly bumped into me and asked if he could borrow a pen. ive never seen the kid before, looked like a freshman. big, humped a bit, hulking, whatever. but automatically i, a senior, checked to see if i had one. im not sure why... maybe i am just too much of a giving person, but for whatever the reason i found him one. i knew somewhere that i probably wasnt going to get that pen back but to hell with it, it never meant much to me anyway. i remembered what i read though and it was fine. so if and when he decided to give it back i knew i was going to tell him to just... keep it. or give it to someone else that needed one. something generous like that. well, the strange hulking kid hasnt spoken to me since but hell, i hope he got the message.

this isnt to say the point is to look out for number one. this isnt so 'ill get mine' in the end. i mean if there were nothing but eternal damnation to look forward to i might be a little more stingy but why not be kind while i can be? maybe teach a couple people a thing or two about what christians really should be doing... because i know i have never acted like one. im not even sure i believe enough to qualify. but whatever the prototype is, i might be swinging that way. not completely, mind you, but marginally. and thats enough for now.

this works out especially well i guess since i am planning on being made one day. say all goes to plan and hundreds of thousands a year fall into my lap. this is not only a good opportunity to enjoy life but to improve others too. not that this will all still apply if and when i start making money, cause i sure as hell arent now, but its a nice thought.

a strange thought. i know i wrote a long time ago about a trip home from the beach and how each arm has a different personality and how they fought and argued all the time. yes, well, through playing guitar my left fingers have started a whole new soap opera. it seems all the fingers are jealous of the index because it is used most often on chords but the middle is making a nice comeback because it is the longest and the ring because it is flexible and can hammer-on well. the little finger hates them all because he doesnt have as much flexibility, cant move as well without the ring finger's aid, and is a bit weaker and therefore isnt used nearly as much. maybe theres something wrong with me. hell, i will report when they start talking to me.

and this i take it feels so good, i cant believe it all to well

god how i wish to be bags packed on a plane floating to heaven away... or at least up north somewhere. thing is, i can see it. i can see myself on a plane with a guitar case containing a fucking gorgeous flame maple takamine (soon to be mine) and me myself all trying to be cool and quiet and demanding quiet respect from everyone but not noticing when none is given. i would have a window seat and nobody would come with me though i always thought i would have a partner in real life. i havent been on a plane since i flew one last year... what a haha rush. like driving a boat but through air. yes you all know what i mean.

you are one funny kid. i love it. i love you.

and this i taste it feels so... i smell like smoke. smoak. i dont know why... havent smoked. havent ever smoked and especially not today. not sure why i would have. today, of all days. uncle wasnt smoking. nobody in church smoking. no reason. unless there was someone in the coffee shop. dont remember... the coffee shop didnt smell like smoke. maybe it just slipped in under the proverbial radar and soaked my clothing and hands in smoke smell. smoky smoke. smoak. je ne sais pas.

dinner with the krauts... my grandmother is so funny. if only my life were more like 1943...

shibbydelic13: im not boring ehre
shibbydelic13: real life is probably a different story
shibbydelic13: ndlkbdantinanvldsavnaldjfgnlrwag
shibbydelic13: i want new york city
shibbydelic13: i want to sit on a sidewalk and play guitar and see if people give me money or not
shibbydelic13: see the way they look at me
shibbydelic13: under some strange tall building

picture it... i can.

so these three boy scouts walk into an eckerds just looking for a reisen. (snort... pfft)

ohhh i should stop. no more. no more for now. peace and god's love to all. goodnight.

dissertation on formal education

another blessed felder assignment. again i wrote a bunch of words and therefore it is worth posting... yeah i know im not worth much else these days.

i am in a very bad mood. i have a headache and am tired so i refuse to use grammar. this isnt english class. thank you in advance for not minding. grammar slows me down, thoughts arent complete when i am constantly formatting myself and correcting every spelling error... i hate it.

now, as for school. it is very interesting that you would give us the handout you did. i would think it a bit dangerous with the liberal minded students we have but it is apparent to me that you know what you are dealing with so im not worried. boiled down, i can certainly see the point bill is making but some of his shit is a bit off base. ah – not the time for opinions though. according to bill here, schools are a terrible place for kids. we dont learn any real-life application and are forced to waste our time, our precious youth, stuck in classes memorizing the past and taking standardized tests. teachers dont care enough to make classes better and kids are weighed down with all kinds of stuff they dont need. subjected to judgments and tests and basically told how intelligent they are. none of which actually aids us in figuring out what we want to do with our lives. he makes the case for unschooling, telling us that kids that dont go to school do well themselves and enjoy life more while doing it. teenage suicide is higher here than anywhere else in the world. the kids have no say in what goes on in their day-prisons and are expected to follow society’s standardized course for success: grade schools – college – work our way up through jobs – retirement – death etc. and theres nothing we can do about it. well thats enough summary for me.

as for some opinions, ive been known to have some. first off, i will be the first to admit that our school is better than most and i find it much more enjoyable than a normal public high-school would be to me. under normal circumstances i would be attending Garner Senior High School... and as far as i can tell they have nothing more to offer me than a mediocre football team and immediate locality. a football team would be nice... as would homecoming etc. but i can understand this organization’s limitations. i love it for what it is. i love it because the teachers here – for the most part – give a damn. not to really blame anyone, but i believe that most of what is brought up in the bill papers is because teachers and administration at most schools just dont give a shit. i take my sat’s at broughton high. two out of the three teachers i have had there didnt care one bit. it was clear they were bored as hell and didnt want to be there at all. i cant imagine how their classes must be. that is the hellish environment bill describes. a school i would hate to be forced to go to. at charter its just... always brighter. ive gotten so used to the teachers and the small environment (though there are too many people now, i want it capped at 400 students, grant money or not). it clearly works. i love hour our goofball students seem to score higher on all the tests and enjoy school more than all the other kids in the state. its wonderful, but enough about charter, there are bigger fish to fry.

i have an issue with tests. tests are nothing more than the standard way to judge students. all kids dread them. i have always believed the point of school, if there ever was one, was to acquire knowledge, not to be told how intelligent you are. this is an excerpt of something i posted on the blog over a year ago:

it seems to me that the most logical reason for education is to make the populous more intelligent. we accomplish this by lessons and tests. tests, why tests? tests label children who arent capable of retaining the information required to "pass." you would think we wouldnt want to label kids, just teach them. however, we test them, separate them, teach them again, pass them, fail them etc. tests not only try a child's knowledge but stick with them as a permanent reminder of how well or badly they were performing that day. lets say lil timmy blue has a bad day, gets to sleep late, gets up late, eats no breakfast and does badly on a geography test. well, that grade will stick with lil timmy blue until the grades restart. it will haunt him, bring his grades down, cause him to be ridiculed because he had a bad day. lets say lil timmy blue just happens to be a smart kid and learns the material. now lil timmy blue is just as smart as the other children. he could take the test again and do very well, bring his grade up to an average that in reality represents his intellect. but the tragic part is, lil timmy blue doesnt get second chances. teachers view their job as what it is, teach the children, test the children, give the children grades and see if they pass or fail. in reality these tests dont mean much because it shouldnt be a matter of what lil timmy blue's memory held that day but what he accomplishes in learning.

basically, the fundamental purpose of tests should be to determine how far a kid is along and what he needs to learn. if the kid learns the material, he should pass for it. when he learns it or if he does is up to him. tests shouldnt determine grades or sink a swimming child. all tests should be allowed to be retaken ad infinitum until it is shown that the kid has learned. when he has learned he should be credited for it. this policy of a test counting for so much then possibly a retake averaged in with the original grade is bullshit. it allows for far too many variables in the game. with so much riding on the outcome of someones gpa, a bad day, a late night, or just plain bad luck or bad timing shouldnt come into play. i understand there are limitations to this, teachers cant just administer the same test over and over and over again because kids will just learn it. it is far to difficult to make new tests over and over... and checking them is a bitch. well maybe some teachers resource provided by the state could handle that. how many standardized tests are created each year? if anything, grades should be eliminated. it is a good way to judge how well you are doing if you are the student and are requesting it, but otherwise it just rates kids based on all these crazy tests and variables and definitely not just the material learned. some kids are just bad at tests. cant deny that.

homework shouldnt be allowed. i know it is difficult to cover all that in class that needs to be learned but after being in class for almost six hours a day (and im aware that is generous, thanks), working away the remaining daylight hours at home is ridiculous. church and state are legally separated, why not formal education and the rest of your life? how can we allow it to penetrate every aspect of our lives? i am sick and tired of always having something to do. it has made me envy soldiers in a terrible conflict (think world war one or two) just because they have nothing to look forward to. for them, living for the moment is the only way. no assignments to do, papers to write, projects to look forward to, exams to study for etc. homework should by all accounts be optional and solely for studying. it shouldnt have a set effect on the schoolwork of the day and especially of your grade. i have better things to do. and i dont mean just watching television. i play guitar, i write, i play soccer in the afternoons. all that was wonderful until i was up till past eleven every night doing work that i had been doing all day. there should be a separation. and please, if there for some reason has to be homework... and i regret it... why is it assigned over national breaks like christmas, thanksgiving, and spring break? when students are expected to leave town and travel and visit family and who in the fucking hell wants to read a hundred pages of joseph andrews? not i said the boy. homework over breaks is one of the most despicable things a teacher can do. im sorry, i just cannot see the other side of this argument. so stop... now

oh, harking back to bills points... school walkouts are ridiculous. we are blessed to have the opportunities for education we have in this nation. millions of children would die for this freedom. we are damned blessed. there are flaws in the system but i would rather go to school here than die in a civil war in rwanda. we need to fix what we have, not abandon it altogether.

im sure there is a lot i am forgetting to say but at least you are getting the point, i hope i am coming through loud and clear and making sense, it is late and i have a knot on my head. ow

as for society. sometimes i hate the way society arranges everything and we all perpetuate the restrictions of the ‘freedoms’ we have to liberty and the pursuit of happiness we were promised. parents can go to jail for not making their kids attend public schools. wow. thanks for forcing education down my throat. and then on to college and grad school and a job and retirement etc. its basically what you have to do. if i was tired of school teaching me nothing i needed to know to, say, be an anesthesiologist... well i have no choice but to attend anyway. after twelve years of this i will be paying out of the mouth to a private college next year just to get into grad school just to get a job where i dont have to work five days a week and get paid something pretty. truth is, theres no way out. kids without college educations dont make it. stuck in low paying service jobs just because they dont have the formal education someone like me has. not that they arent qualified but... thats just the way things are. everyone knows you can ‘work your way up the corporate ladder’ in america but do you really have the same opportunities unschooled? hell no. as much as bill would like to say that you will be fine and enjoy life more, truth is no unschooled kid is going to get a job over someone with a degree from a prestigious university, qualified or not. it pays to be formally educated. this makes sense in a way but it is terrible that there isnt much of a way around it. from birth i was destined to start attending school before i knew what it was and to continue it until i am twenty and change. then worry about getting a job (because you cant get by without a job of some kind... to pay those taxes and social security and all that shit) and eventually stop paying my debt to society (being born) and retire... and relax... and enjoy the last couple years of my life before death. i would enjoy a lot more of those years if not for work. but you need money to do everything and you need a job to have money and you need a college education to get a job good enough to fund it. unless you are god-blessed and damned lucky anyway.

no question in my mind though, if there were more schools out there like raleigh charter, more administrations headed by humbles and more dedicated teachers like (most) of you, schooling would deserve a much better reputation. thing is, according to law, every kid must be educated and that requires a helluva lot of personnel. and not everyone gives a shit as much as yall. people fill the holes and sit through classes while students suffer. its a job. i regret that there arent more of you out there.

so we are forced to be educated things we wont need in order to be labeled good or bad students our futures determined by acceptance into higher education opportunities depending on how well we play the system working for society until we die and most of us never really experience life anyway.

if i die in a couple years in a car crash... hmm let me do the math. if i die on graduation day from college... assuming some numbers... i will have spend %13 of my life (awake and asleep) behind a desk in class. are you saying wow? cause i am. does that sound worth it to you? doesnt to me... its nothing i want to accomplish. no wonder teens suicide themselves so often.

<>i guess what im trying to say is that later on, when i look back at high school, i might have some memories of charter as a school better than a damn lot of them but what i will look back on with the most longing and fervor will be that this years soccer team was awesome and finished with a ten game undefeated streak tying cary academy. i will think of dave matthews band concerts with close friends. i will remember indoor soccer and the fact that i am an eagle scout and all those guys out there in garner. ill remember playing guitar by the fire and writing all my thoughts down on the internet and standing on my back porch looking up at the stars in amazement because that never ever ever gets old. ill remember poetry and trips to the beach and all the wonderful people i have met. school only fits in so much with that. i will not long to be back here because of exams or homework or tests or teachers that didnt really care as much as they should have. if anything, ill look back at mr mitchell reading books to us freshman year, flex days that didnt suck, testing our brains in psychology, felder’s ex-day assignments, events at halifax... etc.

these are the best years of our lives...