UBC LLED367-302 2016

Here’s a piece of advice.

In order to talk about how we can cut back on the money we spend on our textbooks, we may need to kick our school and its rules out the door. Now, don’t go all policeman on me. It’s all about benefitting the good of the people. Our emotionally-laced cries have been ignored by public speaking higher ups. What we’re left with are threadbare wallets and never-ending reading lists.

We need to make a powerful, impressionable, unequaled stand. This the least we can do for our comrades and those who will join our ranks. Perhaps we’ll look a little stupid, but let’s all reach this agreement: we are students who can no longer shell out money for books that we’ll glance at once or twice. Maybe we should starts telling our organs. Will the university take notice then?

If anyone asks, we are trying to responsibly take ownership of our education. Besides, realistically-speaking, people are beginning to upload, download, and circulate textbook files to their classmates. (Kicking rules out the door, remember?) Because book prices have been jacked up so high, students are resorting to slightly illegal means. Dear university, how does it feel having that on your conscience? (Do you have a conscience…? It makes you wonder. Despite years and years of all these comments, nothing has been addressed…)

Life would be so much more enjoyable if this weight was off our shoulders. Affordability is the key to our happiness. Nowhere else can our joy be found. Why, then, should we give it up? It’s pretty simple. Low book cost makes happy students who succeed. I guess our school’s not as intelligent and accommodating than we thought. If they had only listened, we would not be having this conversation, right? While students have been pleading with professors, them higher-ups have been crossing their arms and saying “let’s make the books cost even more!” Just like typing into a computer with a disconnected keyboard. We are guinea pigs that the smart ones just keep testing on.

Tomorrow night is Christmas

Yule tides, mirth and all that crap

A fat man, yelling “ho ho ho” will show,

With materialism in his sack.

I find it fucking hilarious

That the symbol of love and giving

Is an overweight, slave driving white dude

Who delivers Gameboys with ribbon.

Next Christmas, if I get the balls

While waiting o’er by the hearth

I’ll light a fire (if strata allows)

And set ablaze to his girth.

Smiling, you glide
Down the stairwell
Onto the frigid tile

It reminds you of her

“Why? Why do you do that? GET OUT!”

You acknowledge
You breathe
You continue

They love to watch you
To gawk
Their mouths drivel with desire

A woman passes you
The smell of J’adore
Transports you out of this place
Into a dream

You hit the ground running
An end is inevitable,
Right?

They are on your heels
Close at hand
They cannot be satiated

Smiling still, showing teeth
And gums
You quicken the pace to escape
He comes. At night he comes.

They all come
They gawk
They cannot be satiated

(Jk’s: Articles of Knowing)

Not knowing what to write, the absence of vision,
Call it lazines, i need some erudite precision.
Realistically I couldn’t improvise indecision
Any better than if my moderator insisted on a latin prescription.
Will I, the greatest, maker of affinity,
falter, fail, bomb apocalyptically,
saunter so sadistically while pilgrims perish near to me…
i was never the humblest of prodigies, come
deliver me from tyranny!
(I honestly could never sleep with prose unwritten on the sheet.)
So I scrawled:

“Cause my slant rhyme is your good time
And my collocation is your breaths’ vacation,
Yah my short essay is your hit parade
And anyhow, my life is great,”
Pass pass pass pass

Underhanded, reprimanded, over-eager-people-pleaser
Leave it to the master plans. Plans plans plans plans.
I wont put off what you pass down,
I wont hesitate and hit the ground.

I’m in outer space, every evening i’m dreaming
About the girl, by herself, creativity streaming,
With one pen and one paper, gives the whole world new meaning

Cause she’s a gold-mine, yeah better than fine,
With gravitas, elegance, and a box of wine,
Intellectual, yass, and strong as hell,
Rock steady wit, sick moves as well,

I mean not really, she’s a meat-loaf pan
With dance moves as limber as lieutenant dan,
Methodically,
Repeatedly,
Shuffling at the knees,
However unenthused the party seems to be,

but i’m in outer space, every evening dreaming,
The girl by herself, creativity streaming, with one pen and one paper, gives the world true meaning

{ – Trouble is nowhere’s a good place to be found,
The best voices, it seems, always come from the ground,
Everyone worth anything’s already gone down. – }

Why am i clowning, a kite flying low,
Word count so wimpishly dragging in tow,
She made the case for me, put pen to paper,
Make dolla bills y’all, his name’s don draper,

But while he cashed checks i was starting to whimper
Deadline approaching, like some GRRMARTIN winter…

So i’m punch-happy, fresh-sliced caffeine
And a babka made of methamphetamine,
Writing miles a minute, my whole spirit in it,
Realistically, just wasting ink,
But writing is writing
And whether they find it
Entertaining is besides the fucking point.

“Cause my sarcasm’s your phantasm,
My irony’s your cuppa tea,
My prepositional phrases hit you in special places
And anyhow my life is great”
Pass pass pass pass

But i’m in outer space, every evening dreaming,
The girl by herself, creativity streaming, with one pen and one paper, creates something worth reading.

In the far recesses of the house, down the narrow, twisted stairs

A cozy, squashy armchair awaits.

I break the ice with a strong coffee and a sagacious smile

Go missing for a stormy afternoon, away from the abhorrent chill.

A bustling, blazing fire, smelling of pine and cedar, warms the hearth

Waste time with me, your silken ivory pages.

Effortless ease in the warm haze, I go deaf to the world.

My mother hates her new home but she’s making an effort to hide it…sort of.  “No one made me move out of the house,” she declares proudly. “I made that decision all by myself.” We all know that there was only one decision that could have been made, but my brother and I nod enthusiastically because it’s obviously important to her to feel she had agency.

We are sitting together in the brightly-lit common lounge. My mother, a tiny bird, is settled into a fat leather armchair that looks like it’s trying to swallow her. My brother and I share an uncomfortably rigid sofa. This is the room that was featured on the front of the brochure (Luxury Living for Independent Seniors!) and apparently the staff here keep it photo-shoot ready at all times. Bowls of mints, tasteful flower arrangements, and artistically fanned magazines adorn every table. A number of other tenants are seated around the room. Someone is snoring. Someone is coughing. Someone is rapping a walking stick rhythmically against the floor. My mother likes to call her fellow residents “inmates” and she is casting an eye of asperity over them now. “They’re not the sharpest skates on the ice, this bunch,” she remarks loudly. “Actually, some of them are pretty far gone, mentally.” My brother winces and tries to shush her, but gossip is my mother’s greatest pleasure. She juts her chin towards a man fast asleep in a chair near a window overlooking the parking lot. “That’s the guy I was telling you about while we were having tea earlier,” she says. “Can’t remember his own name most of the time. Completely out of his mind. Eats like a horse, though. Nothing wrong with him physically.”

My brother attempts to change the subject. “The food here is good, right Mom?”

“Oh, yes.” Mom shrugs. “Not as good as a home-cooked meal, but it’s edible. I won’t starve. You know, food doesn’t have to be delicious. It’s only meant to keep you alive. That’s the reason why I’ve always had a figure. I don’t eat for pleasure. Not like Mrs. Wray over there by the piano. As you can see, she is very, very fat.”

It’s too much to hope that Mrs. Wray is deaf. My face is burning.

“Of course,” my mother continues, ” if you two brought me as much chocolate as that woman’s kids do, I would probably be very fat too. Her kids have no imagination, just chocolate and candy every time. I do love it when you bring me books and magazines. No one in this place reads except me.”

“Are you getting outside for a little exercise now and then?” I ask, leaning in close in the hopes that mom will lower her voice.

“I certainly am!” Mom has always been proud of her physical strength. “I walk down to the park at least twice a week. It would be lovely to have some company, but most of the inmates here are basically crippled. I’m practically tripping over all the walking sticks and wheelchairs.” She sighs gustily.

My brother’s face is beet red and he has had enough. He gets to his feet and starts pulling on his jacket, muttering something about getting back home before rush hour hits. It’s Sunday. I get up too, and lean over to kiss my mother’s paper dry cheek. She smiles up at me beatifically. “It was so nice to see you both,” she says. “I’m very lucky.”

Glory permeates through fissures.

Calling.

Echoing.

Light seeps through edges,

Hinting possibilities.

Parasites of doubt

Devour truth.

Darkness of the mind and heart;

Fear.

Uncertainty.

It is not rock solid.

Only as strong as wanted

Or needed.

Pangs of guilt invade.

Privilege,

Opportunities,

Entitlement,

Shroud truth.

No exemption.

I confess,

I am by far the least intelligent,

Yet

I know something about starting over.

My pearl of wisdom

Is,

Never be ashamed

For how     YOU     feel,

Despite of what it may be.

YOU     cannot be at fault.

Emotions:

Fine.

Especially when     YOU     care deeply.

Despite awareness.

Why is it so hard to be honest?

To start over?

Going through the door:

Simple,

Scary.

Remember,

YOU     have been here before.

Done this before.

Come to the door.

Heart will guide,

Rest will follow;

Your body,

All of the parts building off one another again,

Collaborating.

Remembering all of this.

Knowing all of this.

I leave the rest to     YOU     .

The door is not locked,

But it can remain closed if you want it to.