Kurt Cobain and Gentle Mystics (Excerpt) by anapests-and-ink, literature
Literature
Kurt Cobain and Gentle Mystics (Excerpt)
Student parking was beyond teacher parking, at the back of the school by the baseball diamond. Over the years, there had been more than a few cracked windshields, but students rarely complained. Free reign to drive yourself to school tended to make little things like trashing your clunker insignificant. It was those really bad balls that made it to the teacher lot that caused trouble.
Jess had backed the car up right to the very edge of the lot. Britney and she sat on the hood, feet up on the bumper. The 1991 Crown Victoria was boxier than a picnic basket and easily lent itself to sitting. Keith was leaning on the open rear passenger
I first see Neal across the open sparkle mall floor, paused in serious contemplation thought speaking solely to self, whispers not for ears or voices only thoughts, shining thoughts, open thoughts thinking marvelous wonders of books and dust and corporate-but-not bookstores. His hair is green not really but blue and green pirate green, red bandanna is he a pirate? asks the little girl with pigtails and chocolate snot embarrassed mother shoo be nice that's rude tugging hand with look of so sorry, she's five, not smart enough yet, please forgive and Neal with open half-grin smiling not really there but almost, not speaking but almost, not acce
0 The Farm on Ledyard Road by anapests-and-ink, literature
Literature
0 The Farm on Ledyard Road
The sky's pink red purple light pollution orange at the edges and it's a long long walk on a quiet road. Listen crickets leopard frogs hoot hoot goes the owl, quiet gentle seeming almost there but not there still quiet long road night. Late night walks home in solitude it's peace and prosperity and no judgments, no grades, no worry standing tiptoe don't fall off the edge of eternity stretching vast before me.
Our High Holy Buddha Incarnate says
Compassion and peace of mind bring a sense of confidence that reduces stress and anxietyand this is peace, this should be but never really lonely peace of long road owl companionship long long peacef
1 A Prayer for the Child by anapests-and-ink, literature
Literature
1 A Prayer for the Child
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South Central High, SCH, Schithole of extraordinary measure with pink walls glass nineteen-sixties shoe scuff nail polish finger print spiderweb cracked where Danny couldn't wait doors, three doors gushing angry empty post-pubescents, pre-pubescents angry, sad tired deep yawns teenagers, standing gawking silent contemplation, desperate to get in, desperate to be anywhere else. Thick tile (blue for boys in bathrooms and locker rooms; pink for little ladies in bathrooms and hallways; must we all be little ladies? no boys allowed in the open halls?) cracked aged caulking gone yellow and grey (grey sheets slumped on a clothesline in the dusk)
3 Electric Astronaut by anapests-and-ink, literature
Literature
3 Electric Astronaut
Home is a latchkey and silent flowered curtains behind the aluminum fish net screen door. Home is transition, is the Crossroads, is the place I shed one skin in favor of another. I shed student skin of torn knee mostly blue jeans and brown striped Baja hoodie and slip into mature respectable one-hundred-percent cotton plain black t-shirt and no-holes, no-wrinkles still crisp khakis. My hair loops and curls, long bleached dreads woven tame under a kerchief. Today: brown yellow paisley, curled commas and swooping vines. After work, when I walk the late night owl guarded road, I will tug loose the kerchief, pull on the vines and fold it fla
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Tuesday lunch is grey pink Salisbury steak oozing on white bread, or brown veined iceberg lettuce with sour smelling fast wrinkling cherry tomatoes. Semi cold half sized milk, wobbling uneven. No cups here, we're too sloppy and glass is dangerous in the hormone laden stink of teen spirit. Our knives are scalloped wobbly weak plastic, our forks melded with spoons, tines curved short and safe.
My Tuesday soggy (safe) lunch drips a trail from the fishing net capped lunch lady over Brett's quick kicked meant to trip leg to the far corner table laden with Jessica Keith Britney Germ.
“Hey, Jack,” says Keith, waving hand smile ar
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Physics means Mr. Morris means that poster on the wall, the one of Albert Einstein where he sticks out his tongue like a thick round tipped ‘v’. Every class, in the back of the classroom on the back wall by the ancient unused projector and the blue smeared stained no longer white board our all beloved Albert gazes down on the masses benevolently, lovingly, and sticks out his tongue.
Albert Einstein watches me and I watch the hall watch the door watch the class.
And Mr. Morris watches Jessica.
Mr. Morris trails one hand long slow graceful along the clean clear line of Jessica’s desk, says
“Chapter Twelve, folks.
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Period eight and it's almost the end of the day almost home almost done. Period eight is poster sized laminated newspaper headlines: Pearl Harbor, John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, Jr., big moments in smudge archaic Times New Roman print. A train wreck, an atom bomb, illustrious black and white dozen pixels per inch pointillist photos lining the walls east to west. His desk is a scattering of knick knacks: a nail polish red apple, a gold pen in a green cushioned case, a ceramic dog painted blue pink yellow, a plastic monkey with a bright yellow helmet riding on a pink big wheeled bicycle. Neal has one just like that on his desk in t