School Directs Me Down The Hall, Down And Down I Go

 

                             Johnny, your Pa has no headroom

                             He sure snores like a pest

                             And Johnny, your Pa fills up our gloom

                             He brings us all Down in his nest

                             All we can tell is

                             That we sure ain’t blessed

 

              Life has gotten sure wonderful lately.  I now wonder if I am still alive.  I wonder if I ever was alive. I’d like to wander, fully.  Wander fully away from here.  I started my life here.  I grew up here.  I started to get educated here, if you can call that an education.  I don’t think I learned anything.  All of us were just told to memorize and do what we were told.  Do what we memorized.  But I could not memorize.  I could work my mind to figure out what I needed to do. But the kids that would do something from their memorization, they sure didn’t know or care about the reactions of here to there that was needed to do what they were told to do.  The directors of our activities, in and around the classrooms, said, “You are good.” To those kids that did not see or think about what happened to the other pieces of life on and around and touched by what they were told to do.

              There was this kid who had a great short term memorization ability.  He did many great short term memorizations.  The  teacher would have us read a chapter of a literary book and on the third chapter the teacher would ask us to spell a specific word from the first chapter.  He would do it and the teacher would mark down that he did it.  When I was asked, if it wasn’t a word involved in the activity that I knew and physically, actionally supported in my life, minutes ago or weeks ago or years ago, I would take a guess at the spelling and many times I would get it wrong.  The teacher would mark down in her book that I was not good with spelling and she would have me walk up to the front blackboard  and write the correctly spelled word twenty times.

              After class was over, and we were walking down the hall to the next hour’s learnings, that spelling honor student tapped my back and told me, “I make life easier than ever!”  Some of the around students clapped.  One of the mean guys pushed me out of the way and said to him, “You never make life easy!  You need to Exercise! For you, Gym is Toxic.  When you speak that sure is sonic!”

              While he was being laughed at, the smart guy asked, “Could you spell what I had to say?”

              And the bully said, “Nope, but I can sure smell what you had Tuesday!”

              Then another kid from the ones walking to class asked the smart guy, “Who are you?

I bet you are Ivan.  And you’ll ask me, ‘Ivan Who?’  And I’ll answer you, ‘Ivan Hoe.’  And again, all we get are ‘How How How?’”

              Then another kid laughed, “He sure makes a lot of Howls.”

              Another one said, “That’s the king of the Spruce.  Spruce?  Spruce!   Spruce are the Mints you shred around here.”

              And another one went, “Blue Mist here, Clue Less there.  Hear a jerk? They’re some jerks.  Ever walk where Jerks Work?”

              An algebra teacher then pointed his ruler at us and commanded, “All your classes start on time.  Go!  And Go!  And Go!”

              My mind went completely blank.  I began thinking that this is the second snow off the season seasons, and us humans have to work for some rat king who dug a hole to our universe.  Black Hole, Wack Whole, Smack All, Snack Call.  When I die you need another eye to get those snake eyes on your dice move.

              It’s like Marching Maraschinos. Marching maestros.  Here they come a mashing up machine parts to fight me.

              And then some sixth grader wacked me with the portable stop sign that he uses to direct the students who actually go to class, directing them down the three aisled hall.  There are Kindergarteners who go there.  First through sixth graders also go there.  Seventh and Eighth graders walk down the middle.

              I’ve learned that these doors  on the hall corner bathrooms are generally open so the teachers can yell in them to stop kids from smoking.  The school library has an entry door and an exit door.  You cannot enter with anything other than notebooks and a pencil.  You can exit only after going through the line where the teacher records the books or computer records of what you need to study for your classes.

              I like the art class room.  It is in the same room as the science room.  Art on some time of the day.  Science at another time of the day.  With the way my memory is, when I grow up, I will think that Science is an Art Form.  Or is it Art needs a lot of Science?  This is for the Seventh and Eighth graders.  Their teacher either has the students paint on canvas or mix chemicals together that would burn their hands if they were not careful.

              I guess I will just have to  walk down the hallway from where I sit at the beginning of school in my assigned home room to the English class when that first bell rings so I can learn nouns and verbs and how to use adjectives and adverbs.  These are the objectives we were all told to have.  Well, I certainly object to that.  Obviously, my brain cannot observe adverbs when they obtuse from all the abuse I get.  It’s just another tooth decaying from the truth.  So, I boot both booths.

 

                                                                                   I liked writing this                                                                                                                                         I hope you like reading some of THESE

We Are All Together, Even Though Our Electrons Are Not In Our Protons

 

              A long time ago, I worked with other human beings.  I considered the animals in my way and along with me, to be part of what makes up my life.  I eventually realized that ‘In My Way’ is also ‘Along With Me.’  I, also, eventually understood that there are chemicals such as silicon and oxygen that make up the fluorides and aluminum nitrates that shape up, make up, and sometimes shake up the sandstones that direct and sometimes dictate my walking and keeps me from some ways.  I am not the only one who does this.  I have friends that realize microwave transmissions are parts of their breathes and radioactive ionic walls make up their thoughts and particles of words.  There are so many friends out there.  They may like me.  They may hate me.  They may not even notice me, made up or not.  But any one, thing, nothing living with me is a friend.  I have to tell myself.

              These days, the people I work with act friendly towards me when we walk into each other in the hall or ask where they are on projects that we both work on.  I act friendly towards them when I attempt to park in the company’s parking lot and when our boss introduces new finishes we need to do or directs us on how to respond to possible and not possible customers.

              People, I’ve got to keep telling myself, my friends are not me.  But then, I am not my friends.  We are individuals.  We do not know what our friends want or need or feel.  But then, I don’t really understand all my wants.  I cannot interpret and react livingly to my feelings.  We all have thoughts and wants and do deeds.

              Back when I was growing up, I had to act friendly towards fellow students. Fellow students riding their bicycles, because I wore my patrol boy belt and kept track of the stop sign, cars in the streets.  A bunch of fellow students walked the sidewalks to learn at school.  When I was growing up other students acted friendly towards me, well when we had to walk through the aisles to pay attention in our classes and when them and me had to sit at the same table as a bunch of mes, such as when we were told to eat our lunches.

              To myself, I looked at them and disbelieved, but I had my own thoughts, words, and interests.  I had to learn that they had their own thoughts, words, and intentions too.  They, all of them, individually of them, they looked, smelled, and emotionally reacted to heat, smoothness, and interactions according to what their own electron communicating areas of their, each our own, brains, bodies, and what we called and call now “THOUGHTS”.

              My mind began calling my neighbors, my fellow students, my teachers, even my parents, ANIMALS.  My realizations came that squirrels keep scratching around my back door.  Rabbits hopped along the yard, slowing up and digging where I had my chair or where I walked.  I looked at spiders but did and still do not despise them.  I hit rolled up newspapers on mosquitoes.  I cached flies in my hands and fed them to my turtles.  All that stuff is alive and has feelings and thoughts and none of us are the same.  Even the modules in the waters, cells growing in puddles.  Each and every one of us things are things, even if we are parts of other things.  We have to exist with each other we do not feel, see, or understand what any of us others thought, worded, done, do, will do.  That must be my will because I think I do it.  I think you think too but I cannot think as you think.

              My down the street neighbor said there’s a possible new planet in our solar system.  In my feeling, from the heat and bumps coming out of my mind, I sense there is no new planet in our solar system.  And that tells me that your solar system is not the same one as my solar system, but was I told by words?  Systems are as systems don’t.  Do drawings hold up to my eyes?  Is sleepiness the cuddling of what I think is my head?

              When I was in the grocery store the other day, I was buying my weekly and low current amounts at home of different items.  I looked at oranges but I no longer like them because my blood has too much sugar.  I really do like them but I tell myself I do not like them.  I bought white bread because my brain does not like it when my tongue likes cinnamon swirl bread with all that good tasting sweetness in it.

              Finally, once when I was watching TV, I realized that I liked old time shows.  But did I like them or dislike the newer ones?  I asked myself, “Am I really watching these shows or is my mind making up what I tell myself is funny or interesting and some sense of myself is telling me that that is what I heard or saw?”    Do you smell TV?  Does your neighbor feel the magnetic waves of their favorite radio show?

              Life went on as I walked to school when my neighbor third grader flew his multi dimensional space copter to his classroom.  I ran my chalky finger on the black board to answer questions that my toes observed from the Salt Stalactites that Stalagmite have their own individual brains, but I don’t think they are individuals, or is oxygen doing the thinking for me, and forcing me to claim it is my mind because of what they do to us  who claim we are living beings. What Might Might but this existence is full of Mites.

              Bee me here and Bee my hair because my heirs heard me before the Ice Glaciers herded me. You might have seen the rain but with my slight, I’ve seen me reign. Then, again, compared to my Sun, I’m not too bright. And if you go ultra, violence or violet, my tooth is bright.

              Be my neighbor as she sheds some music to my ears, when she thinks she is painting a wall mural.  The electrons in my joint muscles distract and disobey the magenta of the local police.  Magna Cart Me Off.  It is their policy, not my polished Ice, See.  And when you Sea it again, it will bee another Ice Berge.

                                                      I hope you have a good year                                                                                                                          I hope you like reading this                                                                                                                            I hope you will read some of THESE