Some Sort of Evil Blowing Hot and Angry

4-20 Su 9 PM
Why didn't I write here yesterday? I

4-21 M 10:50
Why didn't I write to here yesterday either? What a fucked-up crazy weekend. There is some sort of evil blowing hot and angry, shaking the trees demonically. No one understands anybody else. Love has blown away and left only the Godless fuck, hot and nasty. Those of us who did not believe are trapped here in it. We make our mistakes and indecisions and eventually the wind will burn us; it is now; the flames grow and eat the world.
The electricity is knocked out. I bought a candle with a prayer to St. Michael to banish Satan, sword raised high, the monster Satan cringing below. I have only to write it. The headlines scream, a boy found butchered, a girl missing.

I'm at Shirelle's new apartment on Gardner and Lexington off Santa Monica. We went to IKEA furniture store in Burbank to pick out a table and chairs for her little dining room. I assembled it for her. It involved sixty different screws. I did half of them with the wrong kind of screwdriver before it pissed me off. We got int he car to look for a hardware store. At the end of the street is an auto parts store by a liquor store. I said, "How many times have you been to this liquor store in the week since you moved in?"
"Never," she said.
"Yeah, right."
"I swear to God."
"Hm."
In the auto parts store, I found the right screwdriver for a dollar fifty-nine. I finished the chairs and table while Shirelle went to Astroburger and brought back some patty melts with grilled onion, bacon and avocado. We ate at the new table. I hurried home then and got my stuff and dropped off my time card at the LACAS office. I taught my night school class. It was a good class. I have a real high enrollment. My boss said she heard I was doing good things. So I wrote my page in third person when I got home, but I didn't work on Jim. Carlin and I had a talk about Saturday. She was more disgusted than I was. Peachtree called to talk about how weird it was, too. I told Getoff he was a chick-jackin' swoop-dog motherfucker. Shirelle stole my back scratcher and tied it a tree like a hostage.

4-18 10:25 AM F!
Well, I'm doing this in class again. I gave the kids "quiet time" so I could finish reading the newspaper and write these three pages. It's quiet time, but the noise level keeps creeping up. I had my evaluation with the Assistant Principal. It was positive. She commended me for my rapport and for sharing my technological skills. I didn't have the nerve to tell her I would not be back. I have to switch a couple of computers from one room to another at lunch time, so I'll have to eat fast. We'll play softball after lunch. There's three and a half weeks left with this class, then I go after a job at a new school near the house. Two or three years there, then I move to a new house and a new school. I didn't get a chance to do my pork chops yesterday. So I'll do 'em when I get home. I've got to clean my room, too, and drink my beer and wait for Phil and Lisa while I type. Hopefully, they'll want to meet Carlin, Rachel, and Barb in Pasadena. Carlin and I will nail down a time and place to meet after the game. My life is nuts. There's still fifty minutes until lunch and almost four hours until I can go home. What else? It's hard to think with all the chatter and movement these kids generate. The weather is nice. I can't wait to go home. I can't wait for the school year to end. I can't wait to be retired. I wore a tie today and corduroy pants with a soft denim shirt. I need a change. I've got to make copies for the programs Robin gave me. How will I get to the bottom of the next page? Luis just scraped red chalk over a page of notebook paper. "What are you doing?" I asked. "Masterpiece," he said.
I should have about four hours free time before Lisa and Phil show. I don't think I'll treadmill tonight. The kid grabs his buddy's wrist and closely examines his buddy's watch. "Is this watch waterproof?" he asks. "Yes," his buddy replies. "Good," he says and spits on it. The kids are cleaning the room now. We have half hour to go until lunch. When I'm done here maybe I can read some more Youth in Revolt. We're going to finish the "Time For Kids" article about Jackie Robinson.

Kill, Kill, Kill the White Man

4-16 W 8:18 AM
Here we go again. We're watching a rip-on Whitey video to increase our awareness of multicultural diversity. Thank god today is the last day, and then we can go back to school and I can be with my cool-ass kids.
Killing me. This shit is killing me. They just showed a video of "minorities" complaining about the "racist dominant white culture" in America. Nary a white kid was interviewed for his perspective. I guess it's just assumed that white people are predominately racist. I said, "I live in LA and work in Pacoima; sometimes days and days will pass before I see another white person."
I mention that this is racism, too, singling out one group for blame and then non-representing or misrepresenting them or generalizing them all. This falls on deaf ears. Here, people are preoccupied with the worries of their own people. People here seem to want revenge on whites.
What else? Here comes that white geek. Can't stand this dude. I want to tell these people, "Look! The guy I dislike the most here is my own race. It doesn't matter what color you are. It's whether or not you're cool."
I see no future. It's work, write, work sleep; work, write, work, sleep. Come Friday, who knows? This life is so ordinary. I wish there was something to think about besides this fucked up racism shit.
Marti says, if a Mexican marries a Mexican, you give a three hundred dollar gift, but if a Mexican marries a non-Mexican, you only give a hundred dollar gift.
Don't tell me where I can and can't go. You can't hold me here against my will. I'm going to bail early for sure. I'll read and write myself into my little dead end. Too bad I can't get drunk. What the hell else? It's sunny. The traffic on the one o one sucked again. I forgot my little tape recorder. A Morris the Cat clone with a loose belly hanging down wanders around the grounds here. Fuck fuck fuck. The tile is green. Somebody brought jello dalmatians. Rosa is the biggest racist in the room. Worse, she propagates an attitude of victimhood rather than one of empowerment among the races she wants to promote. She makes everybody weaker. She is dissolving the intra-racial bands that have already been formed.
I feel empty again today. My life is empty. It's not mine. If it was, maybe I could fill it up. What else? What else? This is boring the crap out of me. Fuck it all. I'm not going to be able to write anything that doesn't include the word fuck. Jeff is going fishing in British Colombia with his dad this summer. I'll be teaching summer school. I might have a free week or two to wander.