You only live once...
Started at 9:05!
You know that saying "you only live once?" well i thought of a lil more for it. "You only live once, but can die again and again." i dont know why, but i felt like sharing that with anyone who reads my journal.
next line of business, music. me and max eager might start up a
REAL punk band. i asked allan to play guitar, and he said he would. that was about 20 minutes ago when i started writing this. lol. i started writing this 25 minutes ago. haha allan distracted me. we just need a drummer now, and a place to practice. i really hope this works out.
me and weber went to a nice quiet spot. no sounds of bells, hardly any sounds of cars. its such a chill spot. but there are days where its roaring with noise. just glad its not the season. so in our peaceful time we had plenty of time to make up for lost time while she's been gone. still dont know if she has mono or not...lol! i swear its not my fault. after that we walked back to the school and i met her dad. now that i know both of her parents and i guess they both like me. i know her mom does. so thats pretty cool. hopefully we get to hangout this weekend.
mrs blair wasnt here today, and mr furguson was her sub. he's a pretty cool guy. funny, interesting fellow indeed. well wanted to read us some poems. written from Taylor Mali. pronounced molly for those of u who dont know who he is. www.taylormali.com awesome poet. i love this guy...he's so funny. as soon as i get one of his books, i'll put my favorite poem on here. but till than, i'll just put my favorites from the site.
How to Write a Political Poem
By Taylor Mali
www.taylormali.com
However it begins, it's gotta be loud
and then it's gotta get a little bit louder.
Because this is how you write a political poem
and how you deliver it with power.
Mix current events with platitudes of empowerment.
Wrap up in rhyme or rhyme it up in rap until it sounds true.
Glare until it sinks in.
Because somewhere in Florida, votes are still being counted.
I said somewhere in Florida, votes are still being counted!
See, that's the Hook, and you gotta' have a Hook.
More than the look, it's the hook that is the most important part.
The hook has to hit and the hook's gotta fit.
Hook's gotta hit hard in the heart.
Because somewhere in Florida, votes are still being counted.
And Dick Cheney is peeing all over himself in spasmodic delight.
Make fun of politicians, it's easy, especially with Republicans
like Rudy Giuliani, Colin Powell, and . . . Al Gore.
Create fatuous juxtapositions of personalities and political philosophies
as if communism were the opposite of democracy,
as if we needed Darth Vader, not Ralph Nader.
Peep this: When I say "Call,"
you all say, "Response."
Call! Response! Call! Response! Call!
Amazing Grace, how sweet the‹
Stop in the middle of a song that everyone kows and loves.
This will give your poem a sense of urgency.
Because there is always a sense of urgency in a political poem.
There is no time to waste!
Corruption doesn't have a curfew,
greed doesn't care what color you are
and the New York City Police Department
is filled with people who wear guns on their hips
and carry metal badges pinned over their hearts.
Injustice isn't injustice it's just in us as we are just in ice.
That's the only alienation of this alien nation
in which you either fight for freedom
or else you are free and dumb!
And even as I say this somewhere in Florida, votes are still being counted.
And it makes me wanna beat box!
Because I have seen the disintegration of gentrification
and can speak with great articulation
about cosmic constellations, and atomic radiation.
I've seen D. W. Griffith's Birth of a Nation
but preferred 101 Dalmations.
Like a cross examination, I will give you the explanation
of why SlamNation is the ultimate manifestation
of poetic masturbation and egotistical ejaculation.
And maybe they are still counting votes somewhere in Florida,
but by the time you get to the end of the poem it won't matter anymore.
Because all you have to do is close your eyes,
lower your voice, and end by saying:
the same line three times,
the same line three times,
the same line three times.
What Teachers Make, or
You can always go to law school if things don't work out
By Taylor Mali
www.taylormali.com
He says the problem with teachers is, "What's a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?"
He reminds the other dinner guests that it's true what they say about
teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can't, teach.
I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the dinner guests
that it's also true what they say about lawyers.
Because we're eating, after all, and this is polite company.
"I mean, you¹re a teacher, Taylor," he says.
"Be honest. What do you make?"
And I wish he hadn't done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids work harder than they ever thought they could.
I can make a C+ feel like a Congressional medal of honor
and an A- feel like a slap in the face.
How dare you waste my time with anything less than your very best.
I make kids sit through 40 minutes of study hall
in absolute silence. No, you may not work in groups.
No, you may not ask a question.
Why won't I let you get a drink of water?
Because you're not thirsty, you're bored, that's why.
I make parents tremble in fear when I call home:
I hope I haven't called at a bad time,
I just wanted to talk to you about something Billy said today.
Billy said, "Leave the kid alone. I still cry sometimes, don't you?"
And it was the noblest act of courage I have ever seen.
I make parents see their children for who they are
and what they can be.
You want to know what I make?
I make kids wonder,
I make them question.
I make them criticize.
I make them apologize and mean it.
I make them write.
I make them read, read, read.
I make them spell definitely beautiful, definitely beautiful, definitely
beautiful
over and over and over again until they will never misspell
either one of those words again.
I make them show all their work in math.
And hide it on their final drafts in English.
I make them understand that if you got this ::point at your head::
then you follow this ::point at your heart:: and if someone ever tries to judge you
by what you make, you give them this ::give the finger::.
Let me break it down for you, so you know what I say is true:
I make a goddamn difference! What about you?
Like Lilly Like Wilson
By Taylor Mali
www.taylormali.com
I'm writing the poem that will change the world,
and it's Lilly Wilson at my office door.
Lilly Wilson, the recovering like addict,
the worst I've ever seen.
So, like, bad the whole eighth grade
started calling her Like Lilly Like Wilson Like.
ŒUntil I declared my classroom a Like-Free Zone,
and she could not speak for days.
But when she finally did, it was to say,
Mr. Mali, this is . . . so hard.
Now I have to think before I . . . say anything.
Imagine that, Lilly.
It's for your own good.
Even if you don't like . . .
it.
I'm writing the poem that will change the world,
and it's Lilly Wilson at my office door.
Lilly is writing a research paper for me
about how homosexuals shouldn't be allowed
to adopt children.
I'm writing the poem that will change the world,
and it's Like Lilly Like Wilson at my office door.
She's having trouble finding sources,
which is to say, ones that back her up.
They all argue in favor of what I thought I was against.
And it took four years of college,
three years of graduate school,
and every incidental teaching experience I have ever had
to let out only,
Well, that's a real interesting problem, Lilly.
But what do you propose to do about it?
That's what I want to know.
And the eighth-grade mind is a beautiful thing;
Like a new-born baby's face, you can often see it
change before your very eyes.
I can't believe I'm saying this, Mr. Mali,
but I think I'd like to switch sides.
And I want to tell her to do more than just believe it,
but to enjoy it!
That changing your mind is one of the best ways
of finding out whether or not you still have one.
Or even that minds are like parachutes,
that it doesn't matter what you pack
them with so long as they open
at the right time.
O God, Lilly, I want to say
you make me feel like a teacher,
and who could ask to feel more than that?
I want to say all this but manage only,
Lilly, I am like so impressed with you!
So I finally taught somebody something,
namely, how to change her mind.
And learned in the process that if I ever change the world
it's going to be one eighth grader at a time.
The the impotence of proofreading
By Taylor Mali
www.taylormali.com
Has this ever happened to you?
You work very horde on a paper for English clash
And then get a very glow raid (like a D or even a D=)
and all because you are the word¹s liverwurst spoiler.
Proofreading your peppers is a matter of the the utmost impotence.
This is a problem that affects manly, manly students.
I myself was such a bed spiller once upon a term
that my English teacher in my sophomoric year,
Mrs. Myth, said I would never get into a good colleague.
And that¹s all I wanted, just to get into a good colleague.
Not just anal community colleague,
because I wouldn¹t be happy at anal community colleague.
I needed a place that would offer me intellectual simulation,
I really need to be challenged, challenged dentally.
I know this makes me sound like a stereo,
but I really wanted to go to an ivory legal collegue.
So I needed to improvement
or gone would be my dream of going to Harvard, Jail, or Prison
(in Prison, New Jersey).
So I got myself a spell checker
and figured I was on Sleazy Street.
But there are several missed aches
that a spell chukker can¹t can¹t catch catch.
For instant, if you accidentally leave a word
your spell exchequer won¹t put it in you.
And God for billing purposes only
you should have serial problems with Tori Spelling
your spell Chekhov might replace a word
with one you had absolutely no detention of using.
Because what do you want it to douch?
It only does what you tell it to douche.
You¹re the one with your hand on the mouth going clit, clit, clit.
It just goes to show you how embargo
one careless clit of the mouth can be.
Which reminds me of this one time during my Junior Mint.
The teacher read my entire paper on A Sale of Two Titties
out loud to all of my assmates.
I¹m not joking, I¹m totally cereal.
It was the most humidifying experience of my life,
being laughed at pubically.
So do yourself a flavor and follow these two Pisces of advice:
One: There is no prostitute for careful editing.
And three: When it comes to proofreading,
the red penis your friend.
and over an hour later i'm still not done with this entry...so yea, to the next thing i was gonna say was...i forgot. oh yea...skateboarding. its going crazy. my ankle is still having its usual problems. i just gotta be careful...but not some pussy lil bitch who is gonna just not skate cuz of an old injury that should've been treated by a doctor. it wasnt just because i never told anyone in my family. my older brother didnt find out till a month later when the swelling finally went down, he power bombed me and my foot smacked on the bed and i felt my ankle bend again. it hurt so much. i showed him and he said, "DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN! That shit is fucked up." i'm pretty sure i fractured it. but i jsut let it heal by itself. some icepacks on it while i was sleeping or just sitting around. it worked just fine. but i guess i kinda regret it now.
well i guess thats it. if i think of anything else to say, i'll just make a new entry.
finished at 10:18!
Current Mood: 
tiredCurrent Music: The Thumbs - The Citizen 
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