7 (the old serial continued)
Speechless Student #2
B.S. Course 101
Professor "I Never Really Wanted To Be A Teacher" Badwinds
February 5, 2006
On Being Full From Hallucination & Sick At Thought Of Eating Dead Bunny, a Self-Reflexive Exploration of My Wild Winter Vacation
I knew from the moment I laid eyes on that bloody rabbit that I would have a hell of a time trying to describe it if anyone ever asked me to, that is, if I ever let on that I'd been through anything quite like I had. I mean if our eyes could take photographs and frame them the way we really see the world. But I'm getting away from the point. (Or am I.) I can't even decipher the meaning of a Shakespearian line. I don't understand e.e. cummings. I don't care for poetry. I can't possibly untangle a wordless vision from my real life. It's even more abstract. There are no labels, only images, and I am not, nor will ever be, a person who is precise enough to name the stuff of my own life. I am one of those wordless masses who will remain faceless throughout their entire existence because I cannot explain myself to anyone, no matter how much I grunt, thrust, or poke about at their ribcages. They never understand.
So what did I feel, you want to know. Write about something that affected you. Why do you ask so many fucking questions? Why do I have to explain myself to you? Why can't you develop intuition like the primitives? Listen to your collective conscious, you sleepwalker. Get out the library and Take A Walk. I'm sick of your kind and you breed like wildfires. Who fucking cares if I can lay out myself in words. I'm laid out already, in memory, in fingerprints, in my DNA.
I Felt. Period. Fuck you.
i felt theres something more than essays i felt theres something more than citystreets i felt theres something more and if I dont get my mind around it itll burst into a million bloodless vessels swarming around a hurricane hub a root of mindless destruction evacuation oh fuck your mixed metaphors oh tell god all i want is to move to hawaii and forget all this catacombs these library texts these paystubchecks and lottery tickets i just need a little lovin and a little bit a listenin i promise i won the World's Best Listener blue ribbon when i was 4 oh just let me prove it and tear out this fuckery tongue that makes me feel strained
wait! that's it!
i felt
Strained.
(& the manic kids hear
"(shh)Trained
TrainTrain
Train
TrainTrainTrain
(shh)Trained
TrainTrain
Train
TrainTrainTrain
(shh)Trained")
B.S. Course 101
Professor "I Never Really Wanted To Be A Teacher" Badwinds
February 5, 2006
On Being Full From Hallucination & Sick At Thought Of Eating Dead Bunny, a Self-Reflexive Exploration of My Wild Winter Vacation
I knew from the moment I laid eyes on that bloody rabbit that I would have a hell of a time trying to describe it if anyone ever asked me to, that is, if I ever let on that I'd been through anything quite like I had. I mean if our eyes could take photographs and frame them the way we really see the world. But I'm getting away from the point. (Or am I.) I can't even decipher the meaning of a Shakespearian line. I don't understand e.e. cummings. I don't care for poetry. I can't possibly untangle a wordless vision from my real life. It's even more abstract. There are no labels, only images, and I am not, nor will ever be, a person who is precise enough to name the stuff of my own life. I am one of those wordless masses who will remain faceless throughout their entire existence because I cannot explain myself to anyone, no matter how much I grunt, thrust, or poke about at their ribcages. They never understand.
So what did I feel, you want to know. Write about something that affected you. Why do you ask so many fucking questions? Why do I have to explain myself to you? Why can't you develop intuition like the primitives? Listen to your collective conscious, you sleepwalker. Get out the library and Take A Walk. I'm sick of your kind and you breed like wildfires. Who fucking cares if I can lay out myself in words. I'm laid out already, in memory, in fingerprints, in my DNA.
I Felt. Period. Fuck you.
i felt theres something more than essays i felt theres something more than citystreets i felt theres something more and if I dont get my mind around it itll burst into a million bloodless vessels swarming around a hurricane hub a root of mindless destruction evacuation oh fuck your mixed metaphors oh tell god all i want is to move to hawaii and forget all this catacombs these library texts these paystubchecks and lottery tickets i just need a little lovin and a little bit a listenin i promise i won the World's Best Listener blue ribbon when i was 4 oh just let me prove it and tear out this fuckery tongue that makes me feel strained
wait! that's it!
i felt
Strained.
(& the manic kids hear
"(shh)Trained
TrainTrain
Train
TrainTrainTrain
(shh)Trained
TrainTrain
Train
TrainTrainTrain
(shh)Trained")
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