Friday, 16 March 2012

It's Just a Memory, No One Will Ever See It.

One hit and im deep in the muck. Its not an effluent sort of muck, much more colorful, but not very lustrous when you’re all alone.  Just kickin’ it around my nana’s flat in London.  A tall place, more narrow than anything. I’ve become very familiar with it at this stage, I’m glad that I can carry it with me in the future deep inside my memory.  Pages I can turn to reveal mouths agape in the middle of speech I cant recall.  Try picturing where you grew up, you’re the first home, the first school you went to? Could you draw an ariel map of it? What did the inside of your cafeteria look like? Try and remember an average scene, like walking through the halls with things on your mind. I remember walking next to my cafeteria, which doubled as an auditorium, after a performance I’d put on with the rest of my class. It was unusual to be at school during night. Although, there was always the book festivals atleast once a year. I was walking towards the main entrance to the cafeteria, my friend Floyd was in front of me with his parents behind. He still had his lion mask (although maybe I was the lion and he was a different, yet equally typical animal). The mask was dangling across his back, held by the string around his neck.  Try and remember something even more mundane, like maybe going across the grass between the 2 and third wing when you knew you should walk around along the path like everyone else did.  Middle school was a bore. I remember making friends in Mr. Abramson’s math class. He was a P.E. teacher, and a shit math teacher. I don’t remember learning anything mathematical that semester, I believe it was the 2nd half of my 7th year. Nevertheless, I was in the highest Math attainable by the end of 8th year. I considered myself gifted by that time, although I only paid attention to things that caught my interest. Most information just fell away, or was never allowed in. 9th year, freshman year of highschool. I had gotten over the chaos of my new schedule by this stage. It was warm, but I don’t remember if it was in the beginning or the end of the year. I was sitting in Class with Emilio and Ian, the former I haven’t thought about in years, the latter still shows up in my life now and then, namely when I go back to my parents place. Matt Santola was there too, he showed up at the creek when we already had the weed on us, most of which I think I paid for. Inhaling smoke deep into my lungs felt unnatural, and I didn’t get high. I forced a change upon myself. I acted like it took me to the same place as the 3 other guys, but it didn’t. When I met up with Michael Sterns and his Mom, I was totally immersed in my character. I was probably with them because I was afraid not to go home, or perhaps instructed not to by the other guys. Michael’s was on the way home, but I could have been picked up. Michael and I were at his new school; De La Salle was private, expensive and its field bordered ours at the back with only a narrow creek between it-- at which creek I had smoked weed just moments before. I was soaring around his school, lauching myself from its benches and bugging the hell out of Michael. He was convinced, but that’s only because I had even convinced myself. I was fucking highhhhhhhh. But I wasn’t that kind of high--the protracted zombie, or the blabbering pseudo-intellectual. Nor was I the chilled out its all cool and nonthreatening sort of stoned that I would come to love. I was like a child playing airplane, arms akimbo, but totally faking it. Now things truly get fuzzy. Some classes here and there that I couldn’t care about, nor pay attention to. Actually there was 2 years of French where I became friends with Ryan Wansley. He helped usher me into the same sort of place I am now-- hanging around the weirdos. I still cant speak any francais. But I can do other things, like smoke a bowl and play with my fragmented, discontinuous mind. There was Thayer’s English honors class, with Megan. She had the body of a 18 year old at 16.  She tried to show me her nipple ring in the back of Thayer’s class, but I had a boner so I had to pretend that her boobs didn’t interest me and remain in my seat. Thayer taught brilliantly, he showed me how effective a bigger lexicon could be. I never missed a point on his vocab tests, but I struggled with the essays. I’ve never liked doing things people ask, I prefer doing as I feel. At the time I felt like masturbating, getting into myspace and smoking weed with my growing circle of friends.  I guess that’s where am at now too, minor qualitative adjustments made. 

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