tuckova

mermaids singing

It could happen, after a night of tea and cakes and ices (in which tea is wine and cakes are cigarettes and ices are salty potato chips) that the moment might be not exactly forced to its crisis but perhaps there could be rain, too much to stand in but not too much to walk in, and so the story that needs to be told could unfold between raindrops, sheltered weakly with arms around waists and I feel the hip bone I knew once before still familiar under my fingers, walking past dooryards and the sprinkled streets, and when standing in front of the door to dare to disturb the universe with one hug, and another, and the kiss that is a bite which is consumed and is consuming, and a voice says you were always fun to kiss, and another voice laughs in the dark rain, and two heads cluster together in a secret and wish each other a good summer and are gone. 

hungry as an archway

This giant cauldron of feeling that you carry around where your heart should be, and you cook up some love for other people and dole it out to them in steaming cups of the flavor of praise and admiration, bubbles of you go girl and the thick heady scent of I love you the way you are because you heard that was the right way to love, because it's the way you want to be loved, but when the camera swings back around to you, there you are with your aching and longing, your expectant face, your want for payback which, sweetheart, proves that you were never loving in the first place, not really, not the way you like to think. You were placing bets, putting your money on the queen of cups and hoping that once just once somebody would put enough in your bowl to satisfy you. You weren't even looking to have it overflow, just to the brim, like your eyes with tears when the third unconditional serving is handed from your (not actually) generous hands and the thankful smile turns and walks away. Say what you want to make it fine; say you don't need anything, never wanted anyway, easy enough to live without, but if that's true then why is there a tally book in your head and why do you only remember what you give away? Hint: It is not giving if you keep track. You say into a room filled with people that it hurts when people ignore you, or pretend to pay attention and do not, and your voice echoes against the empty walls because nobody wanted to be invited to this, and it turns out the echo of your own voice hurts even more. I'm sorry, I love you, or anyway I want to, but my darling: your need is fathomless, meaning both it never ends and it cannot be comprehended. It makes you hard to be around, and even though I really want to love you the way you are, even though I really want to

too many thoughts in my head

Seems like some people want to teach their subject, some want to inspire in a more "life lessons" sort of way, some want to be popular, some want to be in control. I went into teaching with a certain amount of excitement about language that I wanted to share, and at some point I maybe became a bit of a Nice White Lady about it, and then when I was no longer that person (i.e. no longer inspirational to people) I at least had the courtesy to quit. I'm saying I'm not above teachers in any way, having been a good one and a totally crappy one at different times, so I'll even give the crappy ones the benefit of the doubt. But I feel increasingly like people sort of "get" that students are not all that into the subject, and they compensate for this not by trying to make the subject more interesting, but by making themselves, the teachers, the focus of the lesson. This can be by means of making themselves more fun, or likable or whatever, or by making themselves more intimidating. In neither case does empathy for the student or the sort of approach of trying to involve the student in the lesson seem to come into play. You should learn this because it is good for you in some moral values way seems useless; you should learn this because otherwise I will flunk you seems not the best lesson, either. If you can't come up with a reason why the thing you are teaching is worth learning, maybe you're teaching the wrong thing? Or maybe you're not a teacher. I don't know. I understand unmotivated students, and I once had an adult fly an airplane at my head so I understand the frustrations of teaching those students, but it was never beyond my grasp how entirely useful my subject was. 

ANYWAY. Tip of the iceberg, here. I have to go to an audition now. I AM READY FOR MY CLOSE-UP, MR, DEMILLE.

 

smiled

An older couple, both overweight, walking down the street holding hands, matching bald spots

A teenager skipping down the hill

The sound of fireworks

A woman staring solemnly at herself in the rearview mirror

The streets entirely marked out in neon code

A man riding a bike and escorting another, riderless

A woman and a boy sitting on the sidewalk eating sandwiches, watching a road crew