What Makes Easy Reading
5-13-99 Th 11:24 AM
The kids are running wild. I have some more Xeroxing to do, and I have a union meeting to go to at lunch. I went to Jack in the Box at recess. I ate a breakfast sandwich. I got a hamburger that I didn't eat. My horoscope today read, "Hard writing makes easy reading." I don't really see how that helps me. Maybe I should press harder on this pencil. If I can finish these pages at lunch, I can read Nin through silent reading until we go to music. I'll make my copies after school. Then I'll do my third-person page about jealousy. Watch some sports. Give Jim the rest of that paragraph. 12:27 The meeting was pointless. The village chief's daughter took an interest in the Nin book. I found the part with prostitutes demonstrating Kama Sutra positions with a strap-on for her to read. She said she'd had a dream just like it. She mentioned another Nin title with strange sexual shit, bestiality and so on. Whatever. It's sort of warm, but the sky is gray. Javier gave me a bag of chocolate chip cookies. I'm hungry. I have to put my thermos in my bag so I'll remember to take it home. The Van Gogh bar will be going on this weekend. I have to go to that fucking class Saturday. The kids are reading silently. I'm done with the paper. A guy was getting a paper from the -- what is that thing called? a newspaper machine? a newspaper stand -- that you put your quarter in? -- He was getting one and saw me coming. He pulled another one out and said, "It's on me," but really he stole one and gave it to me. I thought of putting in a quarter anyway, because I appreciate the newspaper and its writers, and that the Times has the faith in us to just take one, but I thought -- I don't know -- the guy might be insulted, or maybe I just didn't care. Whatever. What else? I've still got to ask Steinlunch about the bulletin. We've got to leave for music now. "Hello, everybody. One two three four five six seven eight I love music one two three four five six seven eight." The music teacher always has damp palms when we shake. It gives me the willies, like he's nervous from the guilt of some perversity (me, the guy reading Nin) like the dampness derives from some semen-soaked jack-off session in the bathroom on his break. That's just what they call "projection," though, isn't it? What else? After music, we're meeting with Miss King's class to re-enact the Battle of Puebla.
The kids are running wild. I have some more Xeroxing to do, and I have a union meeting to go to at lunch. I went to Jack in the Box at recess. I ate a breakfast sandwich. I got a hamburger that I didn't eat. My horoscope today read, "Hard writing makes easy reading." I don't really see how that helps me. Maybe I should press harder on this pencil. If I can finish these pages at lunch, I can read Nin through silent reading until we go to music. I'll make my copies after school. Then I'll do my third-person page about jealousy. Watch some sports. Give Jim the rest of that paragraph. 12:27 The meeting was pointless. The village chief's daughter took an interest in the Nin book. I found the part with prostitutes demonstrating Kama Sutra positions with a strap-on for her to read. She said she'd had a dream just like it. She mentioned another Nin title with strange sexual shit, bestiality and so on. Whatever. It's sort of warm, but the sky is gray. Javier gave me a bag of chocolate chip cookies. I'm hungry. I have to put my thermos in my bag so I'll remember to take it home. The Van Gogh bar will be going on this weekend. I have to go to that fucking class Saturday. The kids are reading silently. I'm done with the paper. A guy was getting a paper from the -- what is that thing called? a newspaper machine? a newspaper stand -- that you put your quarter in? -- He was getting one and saw me coming. He pulled another one out and said, "It's on me," but really he stole one and gave it to me. I thought of putting in a quarter anyway, because I appreciate the newspaper and its writers, and that the Times has the faith in us to just take one, but I thought -- I don't know -- the guy might be insulted, or maybe I just didn't care. Whatever. What else? I've still got to ask Steinlunch about the bulletin. We've got to leave for music now. "Hello, everybody. One two three four five six seven eight I love music one two three four five six seven eight." The music teacher always has damp palms when we shake. It gives me the willies, like he's nervous from the guilt of some perversity (me, the guy reading Nin) like the dampness derives from some semen-soaked jack-off session in the bathroom on his break. That's just what they call "projection," though, isn't it? What else? After music, we're meeting with Miss King's class to re-enact the Battle of Puebla.
Labels: Lowlife LA Literature
posted by johnz at 10:21 AM
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