A Charlie Brown Christmas

It's been 3 months since
The frames of my glasses
Snapped. First the left arm
And then the right. They are
Both broken now, and were
Held together by scotch tape;
Makeshift casts on wounds that
Will never heal. Today the casts
Would hold together no more,
And I must remove the old
Rotten bandages and apply
New ones. I peeled back the
Tape: it was a mess. The glue
On the scotch tape had coated
The frames in a sticky layer of
Glue mixed with sweat and skin
Oils. It got on my fingers, and
I couldn't even hold the frames
Together to tape the broken
Joints anew. Now I see what a
Great metaphor these broken
Eyeglass frames are for me: I
Have been broken for quite
Some time already, but I have
Carried on as if nothing had
Happened; I held myself
Together with tape and
Bandages that merely
Covered up the damage.
Now, the bandages are
Undone. As I write these
Words without my eyesight,
I realize finally, that I have
Fallen apart.

The Worst Kind of Love

G!

The worst kind of love turns
Gallant souls into dumb idiots
And heroic hearts into cowards.

The worst kind of love is
Afraid to look you in the eye;
It is apprehensive and suspicious.

The worst kind of love does
Not break down inhibitions, it
Reinforces them instead.

The worst kind of love is
Like a hoarder who wants everything
And does nothing with anything.

The worst kind of love thinks
Treating you differently from everyone
Else justifies its love for you.

The worst kind of love is
Meek and submissive, which
Would have been fine if it isn't
Also lacking in self-esteem.
Meekness shows respect for
Others, and it doesn't mean you
Can't respect yourself all the same.

The worst kind of love always
Mumbles instead of speaking.

It's better to not love at all than to
Succumb to the worst kind of love.

Towards Ruin?

G!

I see it now.
I'm not going
To school to
Learn anymore.
I'm not going
For the facts and
equations.
I'm not going
For the verbs and
Nouns and artsy
Things either - at
Least I shouldn't be.
Nope, I should be
Going to school
For the grades,
The grades, that's
Right! The grades
Are the most important
Thing in life, more so
Than sleep, more so
Than self-preservation, and much
More so than sanity.
Without grades I have
No future, no worth, no
Nothing. Well, I guess
I'm not doing too well
At that, then. I've been
Wondering why I can't
Bring myself to study
Any of my subjects, and
The matter is simple, I was
Still convinced that I go to
School to learn. Oh silly me
How wrong I was! No I did
Not memorize those laws and
Equations, how to do those
Homework questions step-by-step,
I thought that was pointless! Oh no,
I was wrong. It's not enough to just
Write down what's important in neatly-
Packaged bullet-point notes, so even if
I forget I can simply reteach myself
The whole lessons, no! That's the pointless
Thing! What's important is do, do, do! Do more
Of it; more practice; more homework; more and
More and more until I'm a calculator at it, that's
What's important, because that's what gets me
The grades that are my whole life. Who cares if
I don't understand any of it? Knowledge is not an
end in itself, fool, is a means! It is a means
To an end and that end is grades! Grades, fool!
Get it into that stubborn head, grades is the end!
Forget knowledge, forget wisdom, forget learning
How to learn (unless I'm learning how to learn to
Acquire those grades), forget it all if I want a future,
If I want what I don't know whether I even want,
forget it all. All but grades is expendable.
Get it into that head, fool. Get it.

Failing Out of Time

G!

Sometimes I think
My brain is
Not conditioned to
Think it through
Quickly, which is
Why I run out
Of time writing
Tests. "You have
To realize that
It's your fault",
My teachers tell
Me. They say,
I don't know
How to manage
My time when
I'm answering those
Questions; they kindly
Inform me as
One would tell
A little child
How much they
Do not understand
In the world.

The ironic thing
Is I understand
The lessons, I
Just want to
Learn it on
My own terms
(Which I guess
Is the wrong
Way to learn),
That means writing
Slowly and thinking
As though I
Have all my
Life to complete
This paper in
Front of me.

What do tests
Actually measure? Surely
Not our capacity
For knowledge,
They do not
Care about that;
I personally think
Tests simply test
Our ability to
Write tests, which
They assume represents
Our intelligence and
Capacity to hold
Information, though they
Are more likely
Different things altogether.

I forfeited my
Test paper, a
Whole quarter left
Unfinished. I wonder
What the unanswered
Questions are about,
Because surely I
Knew the answers;
Sadly, the question
Is taken away
Before I could
Answer it. What
Saddens me about
This is not
My inadequacy at
Writing tests according
To their standards,
But the void
Of an unanswered
Question, an incomplete
Solution, an essential
Part of a
Whole, missing from
The canvas of
Knowledge and reasoning.

This black, hollow
Void is in
Me now, because
I did not
Fill it when
It presented itself
For its duration
Of 45 minutes.
I did not
Have the time
To fill it.
I have failed
Out of time.
I have failed.

Why I Love Romanticism

G!

Between the Enlightenment
And the birth of modern
Industry, there was a period
Of about fifty years (or longer,
But times are irrelevant) where
Intellectuals felt rather than
Thought, and produced some
Of the best works of literature,
Music and art which I am still
In the process of discovering.
Romanticism, I feel, wasn't
Really concerned with the
Practical messages artists
Of beforehand or since have
Focused so insufferably on;
It was instead a movement
Of sublimity, awe, and the
Appreciation of beauty in
Itself. I care not for the
Meaning of life, so long
As mine is filled with the
Grand aesthetic beauty
That engulfs my vision;
So long as I hear these
Magnificent melodies in
My ears as I close my
Eyes and think: 'Ah, this
Is great!' Not everything
Must have meaning, the
Most attractive things of
This earth are not practical,
Yet wholly necessary.

Self-esteem

G!

I stand upon a rock;
It's a big, hard type of
Rock, maybe a granite,
And on a good day it's
The size of four minivans
Lined up two by two and
Wrapped in a bundle.
The top of the rock is
Flat, with enough room
To lie down, pace about
And jog in little circles on.
The sides of the rock are
Smooth and polished, and
Are impossible to climb.
The only way to get on my
Rock is via a rope ladder
Which I can lower and raise
At will, and this way I control
What gets onto my rock, and
What doesn't. When I stand
Upon my rock I can see for
Miles around, and what I see
Are many rocks just like the
One I stand upon, yet most of
Them are vacant at the top.
Some people might think me
Foolish, for standing atop my
Secluded rock, where there's
Only room for myself, but
I believe as firmly as the
Firmness of my rock that
Where I am is a good place,
And I'd like to stay here.

What do you stand on?

What would Herman say about sall this?

By G!

If Herman Melville were
Alive in our time I'd
Like to venture forth a
Plausible theory that
He'd have written a book
Even more sprawling than
His masterpiece Moby Dick
Which I'm in the process
Of reading. Ours is a time
Devoid of meaning but
Full of implications;
A time that assaults the
Senses but leave nothing
Behind; a time fitting
To gaze into the pro-
Found nothingness and see
Our reflection composed
Of pixels. All that used
To be sacred is now muted
And we are left with a
Feeling of loss attributed
To some source we but
Dimly decipher. Were
Herman alive today he
Would have composed
A lament on this matter
Of such proportion to equal
The volume of ten Moby
Dicks. If he found the
Whiteness of the whale
Terrifying, what terror
Would he make of the
Blackness of the computer
Monitor? What existential
void would he find gazing
Into the flickering television
Screen? How many mad
Quests would he discover
How many indestructible
Foes in place of nature?