100421 I’m thinking of how awkward it is when high school students won’t respond in the fucking chat. I’m thinking of how much less tired I might be if I didn’t drink as much alcohol every god damned night. I’m thinking of how much more svelte I could maybe be if I didn’t eat snacks until I feel like a bloated tic every god damned night. I’m not thinking of all the damage I might be doing to myself by relying so heavily on this semi-legal weed that I get from Illinois I’m not thinking of what it means that I’m a thousand doggie dollars over budget but nevertheless am going out to South Dakota to buy a pickup truck from my dad I’m not thinking of why it was so important to him Was it? Obviously I don’t know if it is or isn’t, because I don’t really know what he does or does not think about. I grew up thinking about him as this introspective, insightful, empathic whatchamacallit, but who knows? Maybe he’s mainly a farmer still. A snobbish judgmental farmer, scared of his own feelings. Scared of his semi-gay son’s feelings but drawn all the same to the devil and the ones that ain’t afraid I’m afraid too—and drawn to the ones that from my perspective ain’t Is it that way for everyone? Or do the riskiest, highest flying among us look towards the ground for the opposite of inspiration? For, like, I don’t know, grounding? I’m thinking of how Loki came in late and I’m sorry they’re late but glad they came I’m not thinking of why I can say “they” easily for anyone but Millie I’m thinking of how long two minutes can be when the timer is ticking and you’re supposed to be in charge of the class I’m thinking of airports I’m thinking of sweaty palms Monkeys flying through the air FLying each other through the air. Some monkeys drive the plane, some monkeys sit in the seats and hope we don’t all crash and burn I’m not thinking of the certainty that we’re all going to crash and burn sooner than later anyway. I’m not thinking of dictatorships, autocracy, theocracies, and the onslaught of the fat white man in a truck I’m not too thin either (see above) and I’m getting a truck; I’m not thinking about that though, because apparently only I have the secret power vision that can tell the difference between the goodguys and the badguys I’m thinking of how tired I am of trying to figure out which is which, and how tired I am of remembering that you never know, that most people are probably just trying to be the best they can, and that I am not the ultimate judge. I am thinking about my dream last night, about the telepathic dog and the guy, and how they can 100621? 07? # wk 7 cool stuff found: talk to old people. rather, listen to old people. maybe take some notes or write it down later. or get them to write it down later. or record them talking. or label the old photos, anything at all really. whatever way it comes out later is fine, it doesn’t have to be about “writing.” Uncle Henry who sold his saddle to my grandpa before going to war in 1917 grandpa riding along with a crackin whip driving his cattle across SD to farm with Henry and John. Cattin around for 3 years and turning around and going right back to yankton. Uncle Louie’s great stories Uncle Eddie’s drinking and carrying on Riding back from Sioux Falls on a steam train Picking up chicks at the train station (haha) The old poor priest (from Belvidere where grandpa’s cousin was from) with patched clothes who they built a little house for in rapid and then the creek flooded when the earthen dams burst, washed the houses away and they found him two days later literally hanging onto a tree for dear life and then he was fine and lived in a retirement home Dad’s friend Ron living a crazy meandering life, working for a gold mine company, landing his car in the crown of two trees on top of spearfish canyon, then a couple weeks ago sitting on my dad & ruth’s porch, a republican yes but still shooting the shit because he wasn’t an asshole Old people tend to repeat themselves a lot. Maybe this is a feature not a bug? Some kind of autumnal trigger that turns out symbiotic? Another cool stuff found: the cool stuff found page October 18, 2021 Thinking of returning to reading. Thinking of putting on my next decade’s Halloween suit: a man—no, a person—who has one more thing to do before drying up like a leaf. And no, it’s not yet another permutation of the personal essay about myself. It’s not pedicures. It’s not the hypercube. It’s not about the superiority of typewriters. It’s not all about how annoying phones are. I don’t know what it’s about yet because I haven’t started the reading yet. I haven’t started the reading yet because I’m educated. And addicted to things that numb me to the specter of failing to come up with an alternative to joining the walking dead, about whom my favorite poets warned me years ago, leaving me with an uneasy gut and a craving for sweet numbness that in recent years I’ve had the desperate misfortune to be able to purchase pretty much whenever I want Revolution is made possible by changing history, opening it up, questioning its stock phrases and golden platitudes I just don’t want “he decided to read and write” to be the last sad chapter of a restless loser chasing the one true fad Like some asshole smoking a pipe Is feeling alive again enough? October 19, 2021 Yes the world is fucking scary, yes the nazis are fixing everything, yes I’m tired and weak and slow and scared for my children, BUT I’m having lunch with a chipmunk and a bumblebee and my bike and Lake Michigan on a perfect leafy day, and it’s divine. *There* art thou happy!! October 28, 2021 There’s no one competent at the helm and it feels like the ship is sinking. Mostly I heard grumbling and complaining amid some paltry attempts to play the game for appearance’s sake. Mankow shitting out commands in her sad circus voice was just the tip of the insulting iceberg. I finally figured out what it is that I dislike so intensely about her: she’s an automaton. She doesn’t understand in the slightest what’s actually going on; she has no compelling pedagogical insight or visceral passion; she just knows how to make a graphic organizer and follow the rules. There’s no “why.” She keeps her job and keeps getting stuck at the head of the classroom and perceived as “valuable” on student council I mean SAIL team because she’s a company man. She knows how to put up an origami topology of “teaching,” so anyone who doesn’t know any better thinks she’s working with actual content, but she’s an empty mouthpiece. She goes buzz buzz buzz but there’s no horn beyond the lips. And today we were thrown to her like a prosthetic bone to a drooling dog, and made to shuffle around in response to her listless callouts while she made the same jokes we were making ten minutes ago but were already done with, the same jokes we were making five years ago, before all of this, before the captain was struck down and the world succumbed to pestilence and we all became zombies. What a nightmare. And in the midst of all this, I get an email saying congratulations, because you unlike seemingly everyone else are *finally* basically holding your shit together, barely, after all these years, and as there’s no such thing as arriving in this so-called profession, we need you to start meeting one on one weekly with some “newly identifed study skills” students. The fuck does that even mean? Oh, it means it’s my turn to be exhausted and bitter. Even if the pandemic doesn’t get you, it’s gonna get you. And I wonder why “start looking for a new job” popped into my mind and onto my calendar within the first hour of today’s sluggish travesty of “professional development.” My colleagues held up a mirror and it showed me a useful idiot. Look, we all know we’re being used. Under normal circumstances, that’s a feature not a bug. We have passion, we got juice, there’s something we care about so much that we’re willing to “get a job” in exchange for the resources and access to people that give us a chance to *do the thing* we’re good at. There’s a big enough slice of authenticity that we happily eat the rest of the shit pie and get by, reveling in the ten percent of everything that isn’t crap. But now it feels cutthroat, and not in a Sue-from-Glee fun competition-because-we-secretly-care-so-much way. It feels cutthroat like the rats are all that’s left to eat. That’s why I sent a spastic email to the new girl, whom I accidentally called “hon.” I was ostensibly talking about a question she asked in the meeting, but I was really saying oh my god did you see that? I said I was frustrated by everyone talking over each other but what I meant was I’m terrified because no one cares. I said I’m sorry my answer to your question was incomplete but I meant I’m so so sorry that I was just playing the game too. Why her? Because I still yearn for authenticity and she seems smart and naive enough to maybe relate to that in some way? But how ridiculously unfair to expect her to know how to respond to my awkward communiqué. (If you’re asking yourself should I hit send, the answer’s no.) I wasn’t even saying what I was saying, so how’s she supposed to answer? I had created inadvertent overtime for the selfsame wretched game I am currently complaining about. Something’s gonna have to give. If there’s a whole new job coming up on top of my existing job, some part of my job’s gonna not get done. I can’t complain, because of “the numbers.” To whom would I complain anyway? Not the new girl; that’s pathetic. Obviously I can’t count on my “friend” Jason, for fear of going the way of the Endicott. I was golden boy for a few years, and now I barely get a polite hello. I guess he’s on to the next golden project, but it sure as hell ain’t clear to me what that project is. Maybe Amy was right and we are all collectively just a stepping stone. Can’t say I blame him; good luck with wherever you’re putting that next foot down, buddy. Rachel said “This is the first time I’ve looked for new jobs.” But she wants summers off and work from home and a pension, so she said “I guess I’m stuck here.” Is that really the only option? Where else would I go? This is a thought exercise that might turn into a “situation” at any moment. I can’t afford to be just bluffing. I’m old and I got a cat that needs blood work. So we’re back to this—typing out my worries at 3:38 on a weekday morning. We had what, two or three years where I felt kind of stable? And then they shook the box again. Lesson learned: they always will. Maybe *that’s* what Lincoln or whoever really said that meant: you’re about as happy as you make up your mind to be because you can’t really control shit anyway, so you might as well fake it while you can. I guess I needed a reminder that I’m a peasant. What cannot be cured love, must be endured love. These words are my pottery. You find them in a boring natural history museum and you’re not sure what to think, are they boring? Or do they say something fervent, mute, inarticulate, sitting there crude against the rectilinear perfection of the display case, out of place, out of time. I’m running out of time and it’s gonna be sunrise soon. Get out of here, get out of this musty museum and go have an exciting life! my homely old words seem to be saying. Nothing more dangerous than the submissive alpha. October 30, 2021 November 1, 2021 These kids need to build up some endurance. So do I The first two letters are paltry. But what are we going to draw from them? The directness. The honesty. Aha! “Go beyond the obvious” doesn’t mean “sound deep and impress your teacher” it doesn’t even mean “add more detail” it means keep asking, keep probing, keep listening, keep waiting, keep sitting still and don’t be satisfied with the too easy. First thoughts may be best thoughts but they’re not the only thoughts. Push it. Or release it. Don’t be satisfied. Stay hungry. You drew a conclusion? You fail. :) Get back to work. Just keep going. Just a little bit more. Until it’s time to stop. Tell them what happened on day one nnwm. I got scared quiet still calm nervous weird disgruntled numb sad wondrous and then energized and a little bit brave. My souls vertebra clicked back into place a little bit. I know not every day is going to feel like that. **But you don’t get the ones that feel like that unless you do all of them.** Ideas, like people, are terrible. November 3, 2021