"I Am Free Because of Football"

- thinking about my 'writing process'. seems 'lackadaisical' or something. i worry a lot about posting things. don't want to 'waste anyone's time', i think. it is not only about what you say, it's about what you don't say. don't want people to read a shitty poem and 'get the wrong idea' or not give me a chance or something. seems stupid.

- existing in a perpetual state of "despair". i wish i was a vegetable container or an all orange poster or something. seems more desirable.

- ate vanilla soft-serve ice cream today for the first time in almost three years. felt confused. seems like freeganism requires 'doing gross shit for the benefit of all life' or something. damn. seems 'worth it'.

- can't stop thinking, "i hope tonight is fun. i hope tonight doesn't suck."

- the cops harrassed my little brother for skateboarding about twenty-five minutes ago. my dad got angry at my brother. seems like if the 'oppressed' had a better sense of 'togetherness' or something things could be better. the city closed the skatepark. the police blame skateboarders for skateboarding elsewhere. they filed a report for tresspassing. the building where he was skateboarding was abandoned. it was 'private property'. seems weird.

- 7 pages left in Emma Goldman's "Anarchism and Other Essays". i'm probably going to rate it a 4 on goodreads. seems like some parts make sense but other parts don't feel right. some of it was 'very good' and some of it seemed 'irrelevant'.

- maybe going to start working on a short story idea i had the day before yesterday. maybe going to start working on a poetry collection or something.

- i feel like the noise an air conditioner makes. i feel like a B grade horror film.

- 'being' seems unreal. today while walking through the hallways at school i felt 'ridiculously detached'. seemed like existence felt 'weird' or 'cliche' or something. felt like i should have been doing something else.

- the other day in Health class i saw a video about a football league for the 'mentally challenged'. seemed sarcastic 98% of the time. a 'mentally challenged' girl scored a touch down and said "I am free because of football," in an interview. there was dramatic music and a sunset. seemed sweet.

- video of me on mal's flickr account. http://www.flickr.com/photos/malwhit/3570764999/

- going to finish the Emma Goldman book and wait for Mal.

Old Poem

a poet. (old)

the next poem,
she tells me,
is what separates a
poet from a
fraud

i acknowledge the
authenticity of this
statement with a
nod and a sip of
my coffee,

i look down at my paper

i pour the black,
bitter liquid
all over my canvas

she looks at me, puzzled.

i look at her, stoic.
still.
sane.

i smoke my cigarette and
wait

after a minute or two i put
on my sunglasses,
and hand her the paper -
(black liquid, like blood,
seeping through to
her hand)

as i'm getting up
to leave,
she grabs my pant leg
and says,
wait.

you, Jordan,
are a
poet.

I acknowledge the prescence
of this statement, with
the lighting of another
cigarette,
holding the box out,
indicating she can take one
if she pleases

she doesn't.

i take off my sunglasses,
glance into the burning
sun,
- just for a second -
put my sunglasses on
again,
and walk away.

i see sunspots
until my coffee is
almost gone,

i walk into the nearest
coffee shop,
refill,
take my sunglasses off,
etc.

Things I Did Today / Haiku's

Stuff

- looked in the mirror for about 27 seconds after showering, making 'strange' and 'unnatural' faces, followed by a freestyle rap to myself about "my ill flow".

- sat down on my bed before putting on my underwear, in order to dry my buttcheeks and thighs. had slightly heated debate with myself as to whether or not this was 'gross'.

- honestly 'talked myself through' a poop that seemed 'life threatening'. i said "damn, this will make you tough," in my mind.

- after looking in the mirror at school, i 'moonwalked' away from the mirror. then i walked back to the mirror, and pulled my shirt up very quickly. then i walked away normally.

- while taking a 'risky' left turn at a four way intersection, i thought, in all sincerity, "you go, badass motherfucker. you can do this." or something close to that. i then had a strong desire to wear my sunglasses. it was not sunny outside.

- i imagined getting a blowjob at least 3 or 4 times today. i imagined sex once or twice. i imagined hand holding once or twice. i imagined kissing three times. i thought 'what if i was drunk right now' ten - one hundred times.
_______________________________________________

HIGHKU's

Steven Perrino
the places you maybe go
just like the bathroom

Ron Weasely is weird
Rob Weasely is also weird
if he was alive

Story; mostly about 'feeling fucked' in a variety of ways

Harry was sitting in class watching Jacob, the class bully, cry. Harry didn't know why he was crying, but for some reason he couldn't get himself to care. He still felt bad for him. He tried to think things like, "That bitch deserves it," and "I hate that mother fucker," but it wasn't working. "Why do I give a damn shit?" Harry thought, "He is a dickweed." Harry didn't believe in war, eating animals, or racism. "Why do I believe in dickweeds?" he thought.

Soon after he watched the bully cry, Harry was in the hallways of Solon High School walking to his next class. He felt cold. He thought about how there were cameras 'watching' him and he felt nervous and fucked up. "School is fucked up," he thought, but then he thought, "everything is fucked up. I am just as fucked up as school. Everything is so fucked up." He figured everything was fucked, but some things are more fucked than others. For all practical purposes he nodded his head in agreement with himself and continued walking. Sometimes all one needed was to nod and to walk, he thought. Nod and walk, nod and walk, nod and walk. He felt like that could be a good slogan for something or something. He liked that. He felt clever and useful. "I have potential," he thought.

Harry felt confused and vaguely intrigued. "Fuck hierarchy," he mumbled under his breath. He hummed a Propagandhi song in his head. "I am audiating," he thought. "Hierarchy perpetuates dominant-submissive interpersonal relationships, which is perpetuated by capitalism which perpetuates competition and inevitable exploitation, which is all perpetuated by the 'choices' of the 'individual' and therefore 'society'," he thought. "If we all individually chose to purge ourselves of our own prejudices, then maybe we can create a 'better' world or something. Not a Marxist utopia or anything, but maybe something at least less fucked up than this," he thought.

Harry decided that no one had the right to own him, to claim dominance over 'his actions', to be his slave master, so he dropped all of his belongings (school books, mostly) and walked out of the side door of the school. "I am a revolutionary," he thought, "I am Emma Goldman."

As he was walking away from the school and towards the park, Harry remembered the bully who was crying. "Crying makes us all the same," he thought. Maybe that's why he couldn't hate him earlier. The undeniable humanity of it all, the inevitable suffering all people have to endure while living. "This should bring us all together, unite us under a common cause of less suffering," he thought. "We can all collectively attempt to avoid as much pain as possible and seek as much pleasure as possible at the expense of no one, really. Why are we so 'self-absorbed'? Why do we think we have more of a 'right' to do certain things than our neighboor? We are a we. We are not an "I". This is so fucked up," he thought.

Harry caught himself audiating again - this time it was a song he heard last night while he and his mom was watching American Idol - when a cop car pulled him over.

"What's up, bitch?" the cop said.

"Excuse me?" Harry said, slightly hesitantly, afraid that the "bitch" part was maybe all in his head or made up or something.

"I said, what's up, bitch?" the cop said.

"Nothing," said Harry. Harry knew that cops could get away with anything. Harry knew this because he had just finished reading a book about Mumia-Abu Jamal. Harry felt vaguely fucked and tired.

"Are you supposed to be in school?" the cop asked.

"I don't know what that means," Harry said, truthfully.

"Don't be a smartass, dickbrain. See this badge? It means I am unfucked and you are fucked."

"You are more fucked than you think you are," Harry said. Harry felt sarcastic and witty.

"Listen, punk-bitch-dickless-fag. You are a pee-stain. I'll scrub you out, motherfucker. Are you supposed to be in school?" said the cop. 'Punk-bitch-dickless-fag' was said as if it was all one word. The cop kept spitting when he talked. His badge said "Officer Broham".

"I don't know what that means," said Harry, again, truthfully.

"I'm taking you back to school, pussy fart."

Harry got into the back of the cop car, and felt comfortable. The ride back was silent and smooth. "This almost feels nice," Harry caught himself thinking. "Whoa."

Back at the school, Harry was in the principles office. Mr. Normcock, the school disciplinarian, was explaining how 'truency' was a 'serious' offense and how Harry was to recieve two days of out-of-school suspension and one and one half detentions for his disobedience. Somehow it was the detention part that really bothered him, the suspension seemed like 'whatever'. Mr. Normcock had a picture of his family on his desk. "I wonder if he cries," Harry thought. Mr. Normcock's door said "PRINCI-PAL" on it.

"I am so fucked," Harry thought, "Damn."

Blog Number One

Woah. Like, really, woah. I finally have a blog. I am thinking, 'this is what it feels like to have a blog'. Drinking coffee and feeling sweaty. Steve is making jokes about Kleenex and me using a lot of them. This is a new 'experience' and I feel weird.

I am going to put poetry and stuff on here. I just thought that and then I typed it. This blog will validate the thoughts that I have or something. Nice to meet you.