Don't you want a place, a school, a center where you can be the dostoevskyan idiot that you really are? Sometimes I feel so afraid of learning, of thinking. And sometimes I think that I'm in an institution of people afraid of this too. Many of them are my teachers.

NEW

I've been given a new idea, a new rubric,
standard,
principle:
Michel Gondrie and Osvaldo Golijov
and their childlikeness:
vibrant symbioticlosenesslove
children dancing

Upon Reading Wallace Stevens

Working for yourself,
self employed,
your own boss--
an evidence of and
movement toward
...
Utopia?

Left Behind

In the educational dialogues of our nation, there seems to be implicated a party that I am not aware of. Declarations of expectations are boldly enumerated; banners of standards waved; war cries issued; all directed to whom? There are the obvious players that I think of: students, teachers, their families, the community. In fact, these are the only players that I can think of.
The Bush administration, through No Child Left Behind, seems to be doing the best at making an attack: the schools themselves. This is a hazy opponent. "We want accountability from our schools!" From the buildings themselves? We are failing to address directly that which we need and from whom we need it.

His first year there, my cousin Anthony was regarded as one of the finest special education teachers the secondary educational institution employing him had ever seen. Now he’s working with his father-in-law contracting real estate. Some egregious secretarial error mis-sent him a pink slip? Nope. Anthony was not paid enough to comfortably support his wife and two children. He may not have been the primary casualty; Anthony left many children behind when he quit his teaching job this past year.
How could we have prevented that?

Color Theory

They invited.
the dryness in my mouth, I mean,
and
the distant shifting of the sky, uneven in the east

I did not wake any others
have I the right to invite, who am not host?
The sand warm underneath,
my arms inside my shirt,
I am ready
to begin my lesson.

A fifth of the horizon
touched-
two fingers on two hands on the lip of a glass,
moving slowly apart slowly
utmost flirtation

orange
Two thirds!
Three quarters!
The dome of the observatory closes
hiding the stars slowly and cooly

mauve and pink liquid
banners of brilliant luminous white,
fanfares of red,
are soon to be exchanged
for simpler fare:
checkered blue and white
a breakfast spread

Did I forget the King?
He was there;
A Distant Traveler, upwards
Social Climber!
Too Arrogant for practice rooms,
He chose to blow his trumpet on the highest mountain,
does that subtle dance of his
an african man in white
cool jazz
aloof and unaware
that some might not care
that
he is so beautiful.

4:17-6:35am, June 24th, 2006

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