How I Use Class Time

During class time, I have a bad habit of doodling or writing random little snippets of things. On Monday, listening to my ENGL 373B professor give yet another sex laden lecture this time focused on Whitman, I wrote, "Literature is his heroin." I kind of liked that so I wrote a (extremely) short poem with that as the first line. I still don't like the ending, but I'd figured I'd post it since it's been so long since I've added anything.

Professor S.

Literature is his heroin
Injects it into the minds of his students
The 72 year old dealer doles out Swift
Just a little taste of Whitman
Shooting up a bit of Defoe
A hit of Dickinson
Sex from the chandeliers with Kubla Kahn
Emerson cut with Keats
Freebasing the Shelleys
The only hope for this addiction - television rehab

A letter to a professor

I have liked most of my professors and even the ones I did not personally care for I have been able to at least learn something from. The professor that I call MegaBoring is a notable exception. I wrote a letter to MegaBoring on my way to her class tonight.


Dear professor,

When one speaks eloquently and succinctly on a subject of which one is passionate and knowledgeable, and uses humor to underscore one's particular viewpoint, an audience can become quite engaged even if they possess an opposing viewpoint or little interest in said subject. A professor who engages his students will be much appreciated, for a student will find the classwork less dreary and tiresome if he is invested in the subject.

You, professor, are passionate about many subjects; few of them have any relevance to the course you are teaching. You are knowledgeable but the small kernels you offer the class are often lost in the pointless blather you wrap around them. Even those students who originally were looking forward to learning about this subject became disillusioned and disinterested after only a class or two. The typing you hear while you speak is not students taking copious notes, rather it is students doing their homework from other classes, updating their FaceBook statuses, playing games, and anything other than actually paying attention to your rambling tangents that occasionally stray onto the actual topic on hand.
Sign me resigned to learn nothing.

Old poem

This is a collage poem I did last year. I didn't really have a theme or an idea in mind. I just cut out some words from the Tucson Weekly and kept rearranging them until I liked what I saw. It's a little schmaltzy, but I like it.

Totally Selfish am I

I decided something a couple of days ago; I want to try to find one nice thing to do for someone every day. It’s not about karma or being a “better person” or even about some life changing resolution.I just want that tiny thrill that comes with doing something for someone else. Basically, I want to do something nice for purely selfish reasons.

Angel Wings

I got an e-mail yesterday from the Pride Alliance at my campus. Brother Jed is back. To help shield fellow students from his hate, "angels" volunteer. To quote the e-mail,

" If you have not seen Project Angel, it is a project in which volunteers wear "angel wings" made of PVC pipe and sheets in order to block what Brother Jed is saying from the people who are walking by.This is made to prevent him from pointing people out. The demonstration is completely silent."

I decided to volunteer for today. As a Christian, Brother Jed offends me and I am saddened that there are others who agree with his racist, misogynistic, homophobic, and anti-Semitic views. I think the hardest part for me will be remaining silent.

After Rocky

This poem has adult language and situations in it. Please do not read it if you find such things objectional.



AFTER ROCKY

Grime coats the pillar
On the unused side of
The underground el station
Still I grip it tightly
As you thrust your cock
Even deeper into me
It hurts and I know blood
Will come as it always does
I say nothing to you
Enjoying the pain
Anticipating the pleasure

The platform hides
From our view
Trains pass
Unnoticed
Drops of sweat
Fall onto me

Brace thrust brace
Your arm lifts
My hips a fraction of an inch
Bettering your angle
Bringing us to the sacred O
At almost the same time
My head drops slightly
Then rises again

Your stubble scratches
My cheek agreeably
A chaste kiss
We walk over
And wait for our trains
Mine going to the western suburbs
Yours going back to the north side

Las Vegas and a poem

For Christmas, I went to Las Vegas with Jamila to see the other three. It was an interesting trip. It started with the plane there being delayed an hour and a half because the plane was waiting in Albuquerque for people who were delayed from other places. It came and we boarded. We were lucky and got a 3 seat row to ourselves. During the flight, I kept hitting the attention button when I meant to hit the light button and I spilled a full cup of ginger ale (no ice, of course) all over myself.

We got off the plane and looked for a shuttle when I realized I had forgotten to take out any cash. Back into the airport we went. I found an ATM and it was one of my bank's (yay!). I got the money, paid for the shuttle, and we waited for the driver on the wet sidewalk. We finally board the shuttle bus and head towards the various hotels that the driver has to service. The bus decides to break down as we approach the first hotel. The driver calls in to dispatch and they tell her to wait there for an emergency bus. So we sit on the bus as the other passengers get angry and storm off to find taxis. She was very sweet and we had a lot of laughs while we waited. About 55 minutes later, dispatch calls her and says the other bus is there but can't find us. She asks if he's at the right hotel at the right pick up spot. Then dispatch says the emergency bus driver "gave up and left" and she should just try to push the bus to our hotel and then baby it all the way to the yard.

We made it to the hotel around 11ish. There was a long line and two clerks were working. We noticed that the clerk that was wearing a blazer was much faster and friendlier than the clerk who was not. We decided that the blazer was +5 speed and +2 charisma. As we got towards the front, another clerk started working, he was also wearing a blazer and was quicker than his blazerless co-irker. We were checked in by the original blazer guy and made our way up to the room on the 13th floor. Yes, the 13th floor.

I found out the next day that he was supposed to give me a special coupon when we checked in for the "kids eat free" special that I had booked. I had to go downstairs (after a very long wait on the phone to get the information) and be questioned thoroughly to receive said coupon.

Later during the stay, the 3 younger ones and I went to eat some pizza while Jamila stayed in the room. She was in bed when the door opened. Some Chinese people had the wrong room and spoke almost no English. She tried to explain that they were in the wrong room and resorted to speaking in Japanese to their Chinese including reading out our room number in Japanese to them. That's when we realised that we did not need a key to open our door.

There was other stuff that happened, but I don't want to bore anyone. It was pretty much a typical trip with Jamila. Here's a poem I wrote in the beginning of the fall semester. It's untitled because it's untitled.




UNTITLED

Lost on Sheridan
A familiar curve
Oak Street beach is near
We arrive
Closed to public,
Golf course replacing beach
A hole in the fence
We sneak through
The rocks are still here
I step forward
She is split in two piles
One for me
One for her best friend
A few words said
I hold her in my hand
I let her go
I hold her in my hand
I let her go
The wind picks up over the lake
Throwing her back in our faces
One last kiss goodbye