The boy with the ice-eyes is in class today. From across the room I catch him in the corral of bright colored balls.
He is so kind. We play a game. Putting the same colored balls in a basket. Red. Green. Blue. He calls Yellow, "Low." His favorite color is blue. He is two. He fits my need for order.
Been falling in love with my students lately. Spending all my days thinking of what to do with them and then throwing it all out the window and just listening to their stories. It has yet to come to anyone's attention how terribly under qualified I am to teach writing. I don't believe my employers know what I do.
This is my third year working at the Nature of Words and only now am I settling into it. It is because of the students.
Tristan, pixie-cut wandere who invented her own compass that points only to the heart when she is lost. She could probably point out the North star but follows the direction of Orion - spinning round and round, finding the stories most kids her age never find. This evening on the sidewalk she pulled a cigarette out of her mouth and hid it, slight of hand, while saying goodbye. Walking away with Erica who looks like Scarlet Johanson and starts her drawings with the eyes. Puppy haired Canon who confessed tonight they call him "Guac-Boy" at the Mexican restaurant he does dishes at and is sixteen years old. In the blanket fort, Canon played a spoken-word bit on the tinny iphone speaker, "We all have different abilities, thought processes, experiences and genes. So why is a class full of individuals tested by the same means?" Then we dismantled the blanket fort.
Jeremiah was helping me with blankets and bags when we all parted ways.
"Tristan hid her cigarette from me," I mused to him, "she doesn't want me to know she smokes."
"I smoke cigarettes. And I smoke pot. I'm a closet nothing."
Jeremiah is going back to Marshall High School, the alternative school. We applauded him earlier when he made that announcement.
Maybe I am qualified to work with these students. No degree, but a chest full of old notebooks since Middle school. I don't know if the students know what a scared kid I am. How I feel just like them. Judged and
Once at a weekend intensive in Sisters at Caldera I cowered back with my student assistant, Marlee, the germaphob graphic novelist. Admitted if I was a student I would hide in the back with my notebook rather than teach the class. Just a scared kid teaching other kids that are much louder and braver.
The first time I met Tristan I was terrified of her. It was years ago and I watched her put a then, fifteen-year-old Canon in a stunned silence. I told her to write something on my hand and she wrote "For those who favor fire," from the Robert Frost poem. She told me she might not stay. Might run out of the room crying and I told her to do what she needed to do. But she stayed through the entire class.
Last week we both accidentally brought each other presents. Mine, an old Pollyannas band t-shirt and hers, a tiny terrarium in a jar with a christmas light.
"We won't let exam results decided our fate."
Take time loving me
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Med
She had just had her heart broken and was moping and you told her to smile.
And I told her, "don't you dare."
And I pulled you off to the side and told you, "don't you ever tell someone to fake it."
What do they say? It takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile.
It takes no muscles to make no facial expression at all.
Lying burns more calories than telling the truth. I made this up.
Smiling causes happiness. So it goes.
Cussing reduces physical pain. So it goes.
Don't fake it.
Pills like baby teeth
I break them apart
I am weaning.
There is something more than happiness that needs to be discovered in this life.
"Sometimes people need to walk a dark path," Ryan tells me.
Another night
I can't do it
I tell Ryan
and he drops his bike, leans it against the truck
Walks towards me
and puts his hands on my shoulders
tells me
"Do what you want
I love will love you no matter what
I don't see you as a person on medication
Don't do anything you're not ready for"
So I'm breaking my pills in half.
Half of 20mg
Half of 10mg
5 mg a day.
I used to go without. Gave myself a month here or there.
Last winter, my eye twitched. My brain felt like it was floating in the sea.
And I had just forgotten to take them
And I slept in
My routine was distrupted.
I did it all wrong.
I start splitting my pills in half after Ryan and slept that night in the daisy field.
Last summer, Mom asked me if I still thought about suicide.
When I had told her I was on medication she rolled her eyes. Disappointed. I didn't bother to tell my Dad because I knew it would be worse. I told my brother and sister over a fire a few months in.
My brother told me, "How can I judge to for taking medication when I have no idea what it's like to be you."
I told Mom, " I didn't think about suicide."
She told me she read an article about depression and that kids that stayed up really late when they were young tended towards suicidal thinking when they were older.
"Remember when you would stay up late working on your projects?"
Way past when everyone else had gone to sleep.
I poisoned myself.
Dave and I called it our "human pills." He had submitted an article to my compilation zine, Fighting With Demons, about being on medication and for years growing up in a fundamentalist church.
"I grew up believing that my anxiety and sadness were deficiencies in faith."
The patient is a 22-year-old female, 9-week into her pregnant. She does not want the doctor to turn the monitor to show her the ultra-sound. A volunteer has offered to be nearby during the termination procedure. When the procedure is over patient cries so the volunteer believes she is not a monster. Patient does not believe monsters should have children.
The patient is a 24-year-old female. She remembers feeling different when she was 5-years-old and stayed in from recess. She has chronic thoughts of suicide but has never acted on them. Patient is wracked by guilt over an abortion she went through years ago that she never told anyone. She doesn't know how to explain this to others. Patient works compulsively. When projects are complete patient does not feel a sense of accomplishment. Patient lacks empathy and when issues arise in relationships she abandons them. She feels if she is not beautiful and happy she will not be loved. Patient feels great anxiety when thinking about travel and while traveling.
Patient does not like herself. Patient feels guilty for being sad.
Patient is 25-years-old and coming off medication. She has the support of a friend who gives her space to talk about what she is going through. As the medication leaves her system, she stops being able to explain what she was going through. Patient resents her friend for not being able to fix her. Patient feels guilt for not being able to be ok. With a feelings of worthlessness and guilt, suicidal thoughts return.
Patient is 27-year-old female who has been on medication for more that three years. She feels the spectrum of emotions that she imagines other people feel. Patient expresses anger, sadness and happiness. Patient works compulsively. Patient feels accomplished when completing a project. She does not have chronic thoughts of suicide.
Patient is a 27-year-old female who is taking herself off from medication. She is scared. The guilt she has felt for being on medication is exacerbated by the lack of medication in her system. She is beginning to feel raw, like the buffer between her and the harshness of the world is flaking off.
She is afraid she will not be able to connect to others soon. She is afraid she will not want to be around children. She is afraid of having chronic thoughts of suicide. She is afraid she won't like herself anymore. Patient is starting to believe she is ugly and no one likes her.
And I told her, "don't you dare."
And I pulled you off to the side and told you, "don't you ever tell someone to fake it."
What do they say? It takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile.
It takes no muscles to make no facial expression at all.
Lying burns more calories than telling the truth. I made this up.
Smiling causes happiness. So it goes.
Cussing reduces physical pain. So it goes.
Don't fake it.
Pills like baby teeth
I break them apart
I am weaning.
There is something more than happiness that needs to be discovered in this life.
"Sometimes people need to walk a dark path," Ryan tells me.
Another night
I can't do it
I tell Ryan
and he drops his bike, leans it against the truck
Walks towards me
and puts his hands on my shoulders
tells me
"Do what you want
I love will love you no matter what
I don't see you as a person on medication
Don't do anything you're not ready for"
So I'm breaking my pills in half.
Half of 20mg
Half of 10mg
5 mg a day.
I used to go without. Gave myself a month here or there.
Last winter, my eye twitched. My brain felt like it was floating in the sea.
And I had just forgotten to take them
And I slept in
My routine was distrupted.
I did it all wrong.
I start splitting my pills in half after Ryan and slept that night in the daisy field.
Last summer, Mom asked me if I still thought about suicide.
When I had told her I was on medication she rolled her eyes. Disappointed. I didn't bother to tell my Dad because I knew it would be worse. I told my brother and sister over a fire a few months in.
My brother told me, "How can I judge to for taking medication when I have no idea what it's like to be you."
I told Mom, " I didn't think about suicide."
She told me she read an article about depression and that kids that stayed up really late when they were young tended towards suicidal thinking when they were older.
"Remember when you would stay up late working on your projects?"
Way past when everyone else had gone to sleep.
I poisoned myself.
Dave and I called it our "human pills." He had submitted an article to my compilation zine, Fighting With Demons, about being on medication and for years growing up in a fundamentalist church.
"I grew up believing that my anxiety and sadness were deficiencies in faith."
The patient is a 22-year-old female, 9-week into her pregnant. She does not want the doctor to turn the monitor to show her the ultra-sound. A volunteer has offered to be nearby during the termination procedure. When the procedure is over patient cries so the volunteer believes she is not a monster. Patient does not believe monsters should have children.
The patient is a 24-year-old female. She remembers feeling different when she was 5-years-old and stayed in from recess. She has chronic thoughts of suicide but has never acted on them. Patient is wracked by guilt over an abortion she went through years ago that she never told anyone. She doesn't know how to explain this to others. Patient works compulsively. When projects are complete patient does not feel a sense of accomplishment. Patient lacks empathy and when issues arise in relationships she abandons them. She feels if she is not beautiful and happy she will not be loved. Patient feels great anxiety when thinking about travel and while traveling.
Patient does not like herself. Patient feels guilty for being sad.
Patient is 25-years-old and coming off medication. She has the support of a friend who gives her space to talk about what she is going through. As the medication leaves her system, she stops being able to explain what she was going through. Patient resents her friend for not being able to fix her. Patient feels guilt for not being able to be ok. With a feelings of worthlessness and guilt, suicidal thoughts return.
Patient is 27-year-old female who has been on medication for more that three years. She feels the spectrum of emotions that she imagines other people feel. Patient expresses anger, sadness and happiness. Patient works compulsively. Patient feels accomplished when completing a project. She does not have chronic thoughts of suicide.
Patient is a 27-year-old female who is taking herself off from medication. She is scared. The guilt she has felt for being on medication is exacerbated by the lack of medication in her system. She is beginning to feel raw, like the buffer between her and the harshness of the world is flaking off.
She is afraid she will not be able to connect to others soon. She is afraid she will not want to be around children. She is afraid of having chronic thoughts of suicide. She is afraid she won't like herself anymore. Patient is starting to believe she is ugly and no one likes her.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Jill
It is midnight, under the covers, and I'm thinking of Jill. My eyes are wide open but all I can see is black. I'm also thinking about what if wou
Hanna visits us in spirit. She checks in and sees what we are up to.
Hanna visits us in spirit. She checks in and sees what we are up to.
mosquito
Hanna would let a fly crawl in her mouth. it stireed up the n. Around you I feel my stomach full of wasps.
I am one of ever moving compulsions. Between one thing and the next. Be grateful if you were the last to speak to me, for it is your will I am bearing. If you were not I might have gone astray.
All big and small things are the same. A heartbreak. A mosquito bite.
I am one of ever moving compulsions. Between one thing and the next. Be grateful if you were the last to speak to me, for it is your will I am bearing. If you were not I might have gone astray.
All big and small things are the same. A heartbreak. A mosquito bite.
Francis Ha
Poets. Stop prefacing your work with how bullshit you are. Your human self betrays your art.
I went to an electronic show weeks ago and danced my ass off. Eating otter pops and hanging off a chain-link fence like a prisoner or a lazy stripper. The djs felt the need to explain the songs and for 30 thousand people they would cut the beat to lay down an explanation. they would cut the beat to tell us to put our hands in the air. They kept cutting in on their own work, wrecking the rhythm of the music and halting the vibe of the crowd.
My advice, artists. STOP. You can't speak for your art. A child is life yearning for itself.
Hanna's picture: too much control can destroy a work
Nothing is so intoxicating that you can stay drunk forever
Rien es
I'm not sure when it stopped being about happiness and comfort. When being liked was less of the priority when compared with living authenticly.
Ohio
I moved into the Ohio Boy house to become lost. Rinnah said I would be like Wendy but that was not my intention. I wanted to be caught up in the gust that was blowing everyone around.
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