Sighs Matters
11-3-98 Tu 7:59 AM
A Wilshire Hill Elementary shitter. My principal eyed me narrowly at the meeting yesterday. I couldn't tell if she was suspicious or critically appraising. Maybe that missing journal fell into her hands. I better look out. [blue ink sketch of paper towel dispenser, soap dispenser, sink, and slum-shouldered man in Van Dyke in mirror--me] 12:30 PM Silent reading again. I went next door to use the phone to call the pharmacy to replace the inhalers that vanished. The ladies had Caesar salad fixings. I said how good it looked, and they invited me to join them. I felt a little sheepish, but I did. They talked about losing weight, trips they've been on. What else? Got the hard and painful autumn nostril scabs. I read a good chunk of Independence Day on the way to class last night. I leave the house an hour earlier so as not to walk down Pico after dark. When I get to school, I have an hour to kill before class begins. I read twenty-five pages of JK. It was all right. Not terrible, but not good enough to inspire me to anymore work. I'm Mr. Holland. Jim's my opus. Whatever. Ugh. What else? "...Can't seem to find my way-ay/Someone tell me what to say-ay/Don't know where I'm going/Or where I come from/ I'm so bad..." Yeah, right. Okay. Whatever. "This has potential. Thanks for the trip." Alternatives. Sighs. Whatevers. Sighs matters. Size matters. Godzilla comes out on video today. I wonder if I'll even be able to get to the bottom of the appointed next page by nightfall. For what are you thankful? I've heard you shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition. What about questions? Is it okay to ask, "What are you thankful for?" Or do you have to ask, "For what are you thankful?"? Irene has a voice like a cartoon mouse. Dina Rodriguez. Ooh. The kids are trying to make up a spell. "Bloody Mary, you are scary, you live in a prairie," they say. I look up at them. "Cemetery," I say. A moment of realization. "Ooh," they suck in their breath. What else? I am Sam. Sam I am. That Sam-I-Am, that Sam-I-Am, I do not like that Sam-I-Am. What else! It's sunny and blue out there. Lighter blue than this ink, though. We have to make our Thanksgiving turkeys for the calendar. Or is it turkies? [a sketch in blue ink of Dr. Seuss's Sam I-Am leaning over a plate of green eggs and ham]
A Wilshire Hill Elementary shitter. My principal eyed me narrowly at the meeting yesterday. I couldn't tell if she was suspicious or critically appraising. Maybe that missing journal fell into her hands. I better look out. [blue ink sketch of paper towel dispenser, soap dispenser, sink, and slum-shouldered man in Van Dyke in mirror--me] 12:30 PM Silent reading again. I went next door to use the phone to call the pharmacy to replace the inhalers that vanished. The ladies had Caesar salad fixings. I said how good it looked, and they invited me to join them. I felt a little sheepish, but I did. They talked about losing weight, trips they've been on. What else? Got the hard and painful autumn nostril scabs. I read a good chunk of Independence Day on the way to class last night. I leave the house an hour earlier so as not to walk down Pico after dark. When I get to school, I have an hour to kill before class begins. I read twenty-five pages of JK. It was all right. Not terrible, but not good enough to inspire me to anymore work. I'm Mr. Holland. Jim's my opus. Whatever. Ugh. What else? "...Can't seem to find my way-ay/Someone tell me what to say-ay/Don't know where I'm going/Or where I come from/ I'm so bad..." Yeah, right. Okay. Whatever. "This has potential. Thanks for the trip." Alternatives. Sighs. Whatevers. Sighs matters. Size matters. Godzilla comes out on video today. I wonder if I'll even be able to get to the bottom of the appointed next page by nightfall. For what are you thankful? I've heard you shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition. What about questions? Is it okay to ask, "What are you thankful for?" Or do you have to ask, "For what are you thankful?"? Irene has a voice like a cartoon mouse. Dina Rodriguez. Ooh. The kids are trying to make up a spell. "Bloody Mary, you are scary, you live in a prairie," they say. I look up at them. "Cemetery," I say. A moment of realization. "Ooh," they suck in their breath. What else? I am Sam. Sam I am. That Sam-I-Am, that Sam-I-Am, I do not like that Sam-I-Am. What else! It's sunny and blue out there. Lighter blue than this ink, though. We have to make our Thanksgiving turkeys for the calendar. Or is it turkies? [a sketch in blue ink of Dr. Seuss's Sam I-Am leaning over a plate of green eggs and ham]
Labels: Lowlife LA Literature
posted by johnz at 9:42 PM
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