"You're a drone, Craig! A fucking drone!"
"What does that even mean!?"
"You do the same fucking thing as everyone fucking else! You're a drone...a god-damned drone. And everyone follows, and no one leads. You know how exterminators get rid of ant infestations? I couldn't even believe it myself when I heard how dumb those fucking drones are. The exterminators they put little pieces of poison all around the ant hill that look like food, and the dumb-ass mother-fucking drones, you know what they do? One by one by fucking one they carry that shit right to the queen. Who sure enough, stuffs her fat fucking face with that poison. And guess what happens then. Guess! When the queen ant stuffs her fat fucking face full of poison and dies, the whole colony dies. The whole colony! Every last moronic drone ant. Pheromones and shit, they can't live without the queen. Ants, they can lift ten times their own weight, but they're weak. And that's you, Craig, you're a drone ant. You're weak. You're following all those other drone ants right to your death. Right to your death."
"Pheromones, ey?"
"What are you Canadian? You god-damned heard me!"
"I did. I do. I hear you loud and clear. And I smell your whisky-shit breath, too. And I've got your halitosis-tinged spittle in my eyes, too. I hear you, and I could give a flying fuck less what you've got to say to me. What have you ever done for us, huh? What have you done different? Are you the queen in this parade of ants? These weak, moronic, ever-marching ants. Because I remember going down to the corner store and buying your fifths, and I remember buying your Newports, and I even remember going the two blocks over to South Street when you were too dopesick to get your own fix. I remember. And so does Andy, and so does Billy. And Jenny'd remember too if she wasn't strung out on that shit herself right now. And you know what else? It did kill us--it's still killin us now. But not me, not anymore. Pheromones, my ass. I'm gone."
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Coffee and Taxes
You'll get a job.
You'll pay the rent, pay the mortgage.
You'll pay the gas, pay the electric.
You'll pay the taxes, pay the insurance.
The job pays you.
The job pays them.
You learn. You live. You love(?). You die.
Oh, and taxes--always the taxes.
You'll pay the rent, pay the mortgage.
You'll pay the gas, pay the electric.
You'll pay the taxes, pay the insurance.
The job pays you.
The job pays them.
You learn. You live. You love(?). You die.
Oh, and taxes--always the taxes.
A Stolen Writing Prompt
1. What are my earliest memories? How far back can I remember?Can I remember anything about Kindergarten, Sunday school, etc?
I remember Kindergarten always smelt like macaroni.
...and I liked it.
I remember playing tag on the playground.
...and I liked it.
I remember making fun of the kids that couldn't draw in the lines.
...it was mean, but hilarious.
I remember scooter ball in the gym.
...MVP!
I remember showing off my cowboy boots during show-and-tell.
...no one thought I was a dork.
I remember sleeping 10 hours every night.
...no worries, no fears.
I don't remember much, but I remember...
Yea, I liked it...
I remember Kindergarten always smelt like macaroni.
...and I liked it.
I remember playing tag on the playground.
...and I liked it.
I remember making fun of the kids that couldn't draw in the lines.
...it was mean, but hilarious.
I remember scooter ball in the gym.
...MVP!
I remember showing off my cowboy boots during show-and-tell.
...no one thought I was a dork.
I remember sleeping 10 hours every night.
...no worries, no fears.
I don't remember much, but I remember...
Yea, I liked it...
Monday, January 21, 2008
Dreams
Stories come to me in my dreams. I'm not sure if I can articulate them into stories that are actually enjoyable to read, but I'm sure they're good stories. They scare me, sometimes. I don't know if it is some sort of a sign or what, but I know that it feels like a waste when I do not write them down.
A few days ago, I tried my best to recalculate a story I'd dreamt the night before. I tried to remember all the key points in the plot. I should have written the story down immediately, but I am not a morning person. I've heard of keeping a dream-journal. I'm guessing this would be the next step. Ahh...ambition. Something lost on me and my generation.
What I remember.
I'm at a gas station or corner store, something small town-ish. I've never been there before, but there's a vague feeling of familiarity. For whatever reason, I know the people who work at and/or are occupying the store. I would want to protect them if something bad were to happen.
Sidenote: I don't remember who was actually in the place. Typically the characters in my dreams are an odd mix of people I know, people I used to know, people I've seen but never spoken to, or people who are on TV or in movies. For instance, I might be singing in an acapella group with my friend Ray, a kid I played football with in HS but haven't spoken to since, some dude whose girlfriend I thought was hot at a bar, and Jerry Seinfeld. Weird, right?
I buy something and start to walk out of the place. There's a guy in the parking lot, and as he gets out of his car, he tucks a gun into his jacket. He doesn't want anyone to see this and doesn't notice that I'm watching. I instantly know that he and the man with him are going to rob the store. I have no clue what I should do about this.
I walk back into the store and warn everyone. (They're my friends--I don't know why I know this, but I know they're my friends.) Everyone seems as clueless as me. Soon, two men are in the store with guns blazing, and there I am with my hands behind my head begging for my life.
At this point, my memory becomes a bit hazy--I can't remember all of the significant plot points. I know there was more to this story, and I know I should have written it down as soon as I woke up. I think one of the men wants more than just money...or more money than the clerk has. I can't remember everything, but I know one key aspect was me having a gun in my face and freaking out. I know that my thoughts were centered on not being able to die because of my lack of faith. I think I begged for my life on these terms. I know this was the scariest part of the dream for me. "I can't die; I don't know what will happen if I die. Someone has to come to grips with their faith before they can die. You can't kill me. it wouldn't be fair. I don't know if I believe in God." Imagine that, begging for your life because you're not ready for what comes next. Not, "It's not my time! It's not my time!" but, "I'm afraid time stops. I'm not ready for time to stop." It's too logical as ways to beg for your life go.
I wake up. Or to be more accurate, I've been partially awake for some time now, but I finally give up the dream. I let it go. My dreams are sort of cinematic, and the really good ones I gain control over at some point in time. They start out as vivid and uncontrollable as I imagine anyone's dreams are, but when they get really exciting, when they get to the point where I know it's a great story and that I'm the protagonist, I can no longer handle them fully unconscious. I'm not awake, necessarily, I'm just somewhere in between awake and asleep. I gain control as time goes on. I open my eyes, check the time maybe, I decide I want to get back into it. It's like the end of a good movie, you don't want to stop watching. I close my eyes, will myself back into the dream.
But, there comes a point where I have too much control over the dream. When I get to that point, it's impossible to see it through to the end. I want someone else's ending, something cinematically beautiful, something I can just watch without control. It doesn't happen, not once I have control.
At this point, I'm hesitantly fully awake. This is when I recount the important plot lines. This is when I should have written this down. This is when I think about possible endings and what it all meant. I think about doing something heroic and gaining control of the situation. Stealing the gun from the man who I'd just been begging for my life and turning it on him. I think about bargaining, telling the gunmen where the storekeepers keep the really big money and begging to join forces with them for later robberies. I know where the money is because I'm friends with the clerk. I've realized that there's too much uncertainty in my life to live it in a boring way, anymore. What with my near-death experience. I think "bang!" and it's all over. It could end in so many different ways. Why can't it just end? How come it never ends? In the end, I think about what it all means. Some message from my subconscious about my god-complex? A sign that I need to write this all down? If I do, will the answers come? Can I have a dream that ends?
If I do, will I survive it?
A few days ago, I tried my best to recalculate a story I'd dreamt the night before. I tried to remember all the key points in the plot. I should have written the story down immediately, but I am not a morning person. I've heard of keeping a dream-journal. I'm guessing this would be the next step. Ahh...ambition. Something lost on me and my generation.
What I remember.
I'm at a gas station or corner store, something small town-ish. I've never been there before, but there's a vague feeling of familiarity. For whatever reason, I know the people who work at and/or are occupying the store. I would want to protect them if something bad were to happen.
Sidenote: I don't remember who was actually in the place. Typically the characters in my dreams are an odd mix of people I know, people I used to know, people I've seen but never spoken to, or people who are on TV or in movies. For instance, I might be singing in an acapella group with my friend Ray, a kid I played football with in HS but haven't spoken to since, some dude whose girlfriend I thought was hot at a bar, and Jerry Seinfeld. Weird, right?
I buy something and start to walk out of the place. There's a guy in the parking lot, and as he gets out of his car, he tucks a gun into his jacket. He doesn't want anyone to see this and doesn't notice that I'm watching. I instantly know that he and the man with him are going to rob the store. I have no clue what I should do about this.
I walk back into the store and warn everyone. (They're my friends--I don't know why I know this, but I know they're my friends.) Everyone seems as clueless as me. Soon, two men are in the store with guns blazing, and there I am with my hands behind my head begging for my life.
At this point, my memory becomes a bit hazy--I can't remember all of the significant plot points. I know there was more to this story, and I know I should have written it down as soon as I woke up. I think one of the men wants more than just money...or more money than the clerk has. I can't remember everything, but I know one key aspect was me having a gun in my face and freaking out. I know that my thoughts were centered on not being able to die because of my lack of faith. I think I begged for my life on these terms. I know this was the scariest part of the dream for me. "I can't die; I don't know what will happen if I die. Someone has to come to grips with their faith before they can die. You can't kill me. it wouldn't be fair. I don't know if I believe in God." Imagine that, begging for your life because you're not ready for what comes next. Not, "It's not my time! It's not my time!" but, "I'm afraid time stops. I'm not ready for time to stop." It's too logical as ways to beg for your life go.
I wake up. Or to be more accurate, I've been partially awake for some time now, but I finally give up the dream. I let it go. My dreams are sort of cinematic, and the really good ones I gain control over at some point in time. They start out as vivid and uncontrollable as I imagine anyone's dreams are, but when they get really exciting, when they get to the point where I know it's a great story and that I'm the protagonist, I can no longer handle them fully unconscious. I'm not awake, necessarily, I'm just somewhere in between awake and asleep. I gain control as time goes on. I open my eyes, check the time maybe, I decide I want to get back into it. It's like the end of a good movie, you don't want to stop watching. I close my eyes, will myself back into the dream.
But, there comes a point where I have too much control over the dream. When I get to that point, it's impossible to see it through to the end. I want someone else's ending, something cinematically beautiful, something I can just watch without control. It doesn't happen, not once I have control.
At this point, I'm hesitantly fully awake. This is when I recount the important plot lines. This is when I should have written this down. This is when I think about possible endings and what it all meant. I think about doing something heroic and gaining control of the situation. Stealing the gun from the man who I'd just been begging for my life and turning it on him. I think about bargaining, telling the gunmen where the storekeepers keep the really big money and begging to join forces with them for later robberies. I know where the money is because I'm friends with the clerk. I've realized that there's too much uncertainty in my life to live it in a boring way, anymore. What with my near-death experience. I think "bang!" and it's all over. It could end in so many different ways. Why can't it just end? How come it never ends? In the end, I think about what it all means. Some message from my subconscious about my god-complex? A sign that I need to write this all down? If I do, will the answers come? Can I have a dream that ends?
If I do, will I survive it?
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Incomplete
A few weeks ago I received a new student in my afternoon class, Tiquana. Now this isn’t the least bit unusual as students are shuffled in and out of my 5th and 6th period “regular” language arts/reading class on a frequent basis. Where I teach they’re very pc, hence “regular” is the nice way of saying retarded, as opposed to “decaf,” advanced is your average kids and honors is your advanced kids. They’re indecisive on just how dumb a kid has to be to be considered regular (I have 2 autistic kids if that’s any help), so my class roster is shuffled quite a bit.
This Tiquana girl, though, is a lot stranger than most of my students (which is saying a lot). When I first got her I noticed that she was very twitchy and would shout out random things as if she had Turret’s: “Stop looking at me! I have to go! Look at me! Arf!…etc.” I ignored this behavior for as long as I could, thinking it was just attention-seeking. But eventually, I got around to talking to her previous teacher, who mentioned a peculiar problem with her always having to go to the bathroom.
The bathroom thing is a typical avoidance strategy, so as a teacher you kind of get used to just denying them their requests unless they’re dancing wildly. But Tiquana keeps a water bottle in her locker, so she can sneak drinks, hence making her have to pee. She twitches and crosses and uncrosses her legs repeatedly. She makes strange noises. I’m pretty sure I heard her barking, “Arf!”
“Tiquana, you’re being disruptive; I’m going to have to relocate you.”
“But…Mr. Jim, I can’t help it…I really have to go.”
“I’ve been given strict instructions that you are not to leave my classroom. Please sit up here next to my desk.”
“But…!”
“Now!”
Another one of my prized students, Jimmy, who also can not shut the hell up and was already located at one of the desks near mine, feels the need to chime in at this point.
“Mr. Jim, I don’t want to sit next to that girl; she’s crazy!”
At this point all the other students in my class are nodding in agreement. (I also agree but obviously can not say so.)
“Jimmy, Tiquana is being a bit disruptive, but I’m not going to be rude.”
“Shit, I would.”
I’m laughing on the inside, really. Actually—really, really hard.
This Tiquana girl, though, is a lot stranger than most of my students (which is saying a lot). When I first got her I noticed that she was very twitchy and would shout out random things as if she had Turret’s: “Stop looking at me! I have to go! Look at me! Arf!…etc.” I ignored this behavior for as long as I could, thinking it was just attention-seeking. But eventually, I got around to talking to her previous teacher, who mentioned a peculiar problem with her always having to go to the bathroom.
The bathroom thing is a typical avoidance strategy, so as a teacher you kind of get used to just denying them their requests unless they’re dancing wildly. But Tiquana keeps a water bottle in her locker, so she can sneak drinks, hence making her have to pee. She twitches and crosses and uncrosses her legs repeatedly. She makes strange noises. I’m pretty sure I heard her barking, “Arf!”
“Tiquana, you’re being disruptive; I’m going to have to relocate you.”
“But…Mr. Jim, I can’t help it…I really have to go.”
“I’ve been given strict instructions that you are not to leave my classroom. Please sit up here next to my desk.”
“But…!”
“Now!”
Another one of my prized students, Jimmy, who also can not shut the hell up and was already located at one of the desks near mine, feels the need to chime in at this point.
“Mr. Jim, I don’t want to sit next to that girl; she’s crazy!”
At this point all the other students in my class are nodding in agreement. (I also agree but obviously can not say so.)
“Jimmy, Tiquana is being a bit disruptive, but I’m not going to be rude.”
“Shit, I would.”
I’m laughing on the inside, really. Actually—really, really hard.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
The Perks of Snowfall
Today, I snowboard. We're heading up to Vermont in just a few minutes for four days of glorious powder riding in a winter wonderland. I'm psyched.
I'm going to do a 360º before the trip is over. I can feel it in my fingers--I can feel it in my toes.
After the trip I'll be remanded back to Florida where I will neither snowboard nor do/attempt 360ºs. I will do neither of these things because you can't snowboard in Florida. This is because there isn't snow in Florida. The lack of snow is one result of the pleasant tropical climate.
Win some lose some.
And in the great words of Forrest Gump, "That's all I really have to say 'bout that."
I'm going to do a 360º before the trip is over. I can feel it in my fingers--I can feel it in my toes.
After the trip I'll be remanded back to Florida where I will neither snowboard nor do/attempt 360ºs. I will do neither of these things because you can't snowboard in Florida. This is because there isn't snow in Florida. The lack of snow is one result of the pleasant tropical climate.
Win some lose some.
And in the great words of Forrest Gump, "That's all I really have to say 'bout that."
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