Aphasia Kids

Th 8-7 8:42 AM
I asked the kids what they would do if they were Superman.  William said if he was Superman, he would be Batman.  Luis said if he was Superman, he would beat up Batman.  Jose said if he was Superman, he would beat up Superman.  "The evil Superman?" asked Shirley.  "Yeah," said Jose.  "Well, what would you do with a million dollars, then?" I asked.  Angel said, "Car!"  "You'd buy a new car?"  "Yuh."  "What about you, William?"  "Batman!"  "You'd buy Batman?"  He nodded his toothless smile.  "I'd be a fish," said Shirley.  "You'd be a fish if you had a million dollars?"  "Yeah, I'd eat sharks."
What else?  I'm going to take the rest of the month off.  I'll probably get a good screwing over by payroll on my September paycheck if I do.  I can't think of anything.  I cut celery sticks and put peanut butter on them and ate for lunch.  I have an apple, too.  I'll make fish tacos for dinner.  I'll probably eat before school.  I pick up my rollercoaster picture today.  I blow fart sounds with my lips.  I could go for a beer.  What the hell else?  What the flying motherfuck else?  I have to teach again tonight.  I'm doing a lousy job with these aphasia kids.  Maybe someone with some special training could do better.  I can work on my cityscape.  Gilbert just brought me a business card for his dad's screen and glass business.  Didn't hear from Shirelle yesterday.
There's a white truck outside covered with unintelligible graffiti.  A woman walks by with a Dole umbrella to protect her from the sun.  A woman and a boy hang their clothes for sale over the iron fence in front of their apartment.  There's a beat up old orange and primer Mustang out there.  A grungy guy pushes a shopping cart full of junk.  A Mexican pushes an ice cream cart with "El Michoacano" stenciled on the side.  The parents line up along the gate watching their children go to kindergarten.  Even after the teacher picks them up, they keep watching.  Jackson's mom sent a note saying that she wanted to talk with me.  I tried to call the number on the E-card, but no one was there.  Ugh.  No more paid vacation.

They're Mexican Fan Palms

8-6 W 12:02 PM
Pollo Loco.  Blowing another eight bucks on lunch.  The rationale is that since I have to get my TB test checked after school today, I won't be able to go right home to feed my starving gut.  Sunny and hot, not a cloud in the sky.  Everyone's talking about the triple digit heat, but I hardly notice it.  I finished reading the newspaper.  I have to do some ironing today.  I wish I knew the names of the different palm trees.  I think the tall, skinny ones are South Pacific Royal Palms.  The short fat ones are Arabian Desert Palms.  A man clasps his hands over his Pollo Loco and mumbles into them.  A fat-cheeked, over-indulged, immaculately-combed kid stands at his table shrieking.  His parents pretend like it's not happening.  Why do some kids have faces that make you want to slap them?
Back in class.  The kids are watching the Disney version of The Three Little Pigs.  The Angels are on at one o'clock today.  I may go to the store and get salad and sour cream to make fish tacos, get stamps and bread, razors, soap.  Tonight I'll smoke, do my third person page, write to God in a different tone.     What else?     I want to color more skyscrapers from my drawing.  Pluto's trying to catch a magic hat.  I think I'll read Slouching Toward Bethlehem soon.  The kids from my old class say they don't like their new teacher, and they want me back.  Urg.  What else?  There are two TAs in this class, but they do very little.  Ms. Owens has brought her grandson, Marcus, to class.  They are drawing pictures of Spiderman and Ironman.  Now Pluto is fooling with a mail-order turtle.  Shirelle came over and said I said we should look for a place together.  I don't remember saying that.  She got upset.  I cooked fish for dinner.  She ate and went to bed.  I stayed up late, writing.  She came out a while later and said she was going home; there was nothing to do alone in the dark.  I asked fs she was PMSing.  She said she was.  She bailed.  Waited in the car a long time before firing it up and driving off.  I started thinking about my future and about the Glorious compatability factor vs. the Shirelle doom factor.  I'll read some more poems after this.  Jose says something that I take to mean he doesn't like the video.  He keeps wiping a thick, cream-colored snot on his shirt.  I guess this weak-ass entry will have to do.

Aphasia

Tu 8-5 1:40 PM
I'm in class with the aphasia kids.  I can barely keep my eyes open.  They're having free exploration time.  I walked to El Taurino for an eight dollar lunch.  Why do I do this to myself?  I had a torta de bistec, a taco de carnitas, y una de asada.  One hour and eight minutes until we're out of here.  Looks like I'll be crashing when I get home.  I need to pick up new registration slips.  Three kids are playing a game on the computer.  Two more are playing the board game, "Trouble". 
What else?  It's hard to think, I'm so tired.  Something woke us up last night.  Some loud noise scared Shirelle, and then she scared me awake.  I got up and looked out the window. 
I can't think of anything more to write.  Jose has hazel eyes.  I ask him how old he is and he says, "One."  I say, "You can't be one year old.  That would be a baby."  He shrugs.  He wears a white school uniform polo shirt buttoned to the top and profusely stained with dirty blue pants.  Shirley is narrating a story about someone who eats mocos and takes her poo poo.  "What grade are you in," I ask Jose.  "Eight," he says.  He must be talking about his age now.  "I can't do it," he says.  I say, "Jose, if you were in eighth grade, you would be twelve or thirteen years old.  Are you twelve or thirteen years old?" I ask.  He says, "Thirteen."  I realize now that I am the idiot, but I say "Thirteen!?"  "Twelve," he changes his answer.  "When's your birthday?" I ask, and he answers, "Brilly."  I say,  "How many candles do they put on your birthday cake?"  He says, "Three...No--twelve!"  William says, "I ur putr?"  I say, "Sure."  I ask him what he likes.  He says, "Peanut butter."
Shirley is wearing her plaid school uniform with Pocahontas shoes.  She says she seven years old.  She has dark, dark eyes.  She says, "Your eyes are look like Jose," which is quite a compliment.  She has one brother who is nine.  He hates her a lot and loves her a little bit, and she loves him a lot and hates him a little bit.  They fight because he takes her stuff.  His name is Kevin.  Her favorite things are books and computers.  She said a man had a heart attack.  "Hus killed heart killed heat attack?" she asks.  "Where?" I ask back. "On TV," she says.  "What makes you think of that?" I ask.  "I don't know," she says. 

Ach ick urk yip yap fuck

Waiting on change at the Flower Street Cafe Sports Bar.  I came downtown on the Red Line to get my TB test at the District Office.  I got off at Pershing Square and took the Angel's Flight Funicular up to Grand.  Then I walked down Hill and Broadway and Spring Streets looking for a place to eat.  I looked in on Clifton's Cafeteria.  I liked the interior, sort of a wooded setting, multi-leveled sort of a cheesy Sierra imitation, a foil to the blaring lights and music of the immigrant trade shops.  The food didn't look too good when I cruised the line, so moved on.  Finally I wound up here.  I've read the newspaper now.  Couldn't solve the Twain quip.  I'm having a beer.  There's the subway entrance right on the street.  Thinking of more exploring, a hole in the wall bar like the Golden Gopher or maybe browse a sex shop or something Bukowski-esque, but I still want to look into enlarging my rollercoaster photo.  I have to come back Wed. to get my TB test checked.  I'm s'pos'd to come down to the courts on the 18th for that subpeona, too.  I'd like to check out MOCA on Thursday night.  I didn't take either of the two pictures I saw.  Should I do 'em now before I head back?  I could go for a cup of coffee.  I drank about six glasses of iced tea before my beer.  I have half a joint in my bag.  The waitress and I keep making eye contact.  It flutters my stomach.  I think about Arturo Bandini.  I just ordered another beer.  I have to teach tonight.  Tomorrow I start the aphasia class.  I know very little about aphasia except that it's some kind of language processing disorder.  There's a framed black and white photo of some guys playing golf in their underwear in front of a brick building that says PLAY GOLF FREE while having your suit PRESSED.  What else?  Have to finish this lame '92 page still.  Do the third person page.  Spend an hour with Jim.  What else?  Cowboy coach Barry Switzer was arrested for trying to bring a loaded gun onto an airplane with his baggage.  Duh.  Mac stole a pair of my shorts.  Go go go!  What else?  Ach ick urk yip yap fuck.  I'm glad I came down here the way I did.  Start some kitchen unit tonight.  Got to turn in time card.