Rain Check.

So, this tall, dark fellow by the name of Robert calls me across the street (rudely, I might add). I go over, with my silly Stetson, iced coffee and all. He asks me what's going on downtown. I start to answer him, but he interrupts and asks me my name and how I am doing and introduces himself. He gives me a real crap handshake. He asks me where I am headed. Being real damn sick of Phoenixville weirdos, I say with brilliant mounds of attitude on top, "Home". He says submissively, "Oh, a'ight, I'll leave you alone then." But he doesn't, the lying bastard. "You got company?" I say, confusedly, "No?". I start to walk away as he asks me, "You want company?". I frown and shake my head. The entire way home I cursed him up and down under my breath. I said some nasty things. This is what these damned rocks have done to me. Can't see ships for miles, miles, miles.

Then I guess I'm floating downtown with fellows of some sort of knowledge and a high, gone kid asks me what's going on and I say nothing. Instead, I curse at him barely beneath my breath. Black sea.

It's a black ball, expanding like a tumor, pressing against Luke's soul, thinning out feelings and compressing thoughts and reality itself. A disease, but somehow I can't drop the savior.

Apropos proposal.

"Nothing really matters. Anyone can see, nothing really matters to me."

Some morning, I'll wake up in a world that is a world. I'll wake up, and I'll see lucid sun in my window panes. I'll wake up, and I'll be with myself. I'll wake up, and I'll feel. I'll feel love, I'll feel pain, I'll feel happiness. I will wake up, and I will know these men and women. I'll know them, and I'll see them with my own eyes. We'll all be the same, in old homes with our birds and our mother hens and our father fox. We'll all hold hands and laugh and sing together in the way the Whos do. I'll take off my glasses and see my brother. I'll break my own heart on my own time. I'll follow my heart on my own time. I'll learn from teachers and write down things that are important to me. I'll know the pains and let them flow. I'll see my mother and make her happy one day. I'll cry and I will look through flooded pupils the Moon and all its running blood. I won't spill a drop of mine.

Or maybe the bruises won't heal.

Little glass angels that peer down the cracks and the little mouse holes. I guess they are looking after me, but they are under the floorboards now. It's just me and the black mold. 6 days of night.

Sophomore Blog.

"I may be shy and not reply to your scathing review, but I'd rather subsist on venom than abstain with you. Oh, I'll be fine, sever this for all time, laugh it off when this ends. You can just go get high with all of your dumb friends."

Tonight was oil on the levy. I attended a football game with my good pal Nick. I opened my front door and he said, "Hello Mr. Wilson" and pretended to execute me via stomach shot. I found this hilarious. We arrived at the game, paid our dues, observed the excessive security they have nowadays (necessary, considering drugs, alcohol, fights, and teenage terrorism) and waltzed on over to the hordes of screaming children. And then the Elementary school kids. That was a stab at Freshmen, yes it was. We uncovered an underground sophomore marijuana ring and sought to exploit it in humorous ways. One of the ways was by yelling in a young woman's face that she was being manipulated by the boys, which she was. She didn't take kindly to that. I'm fainting slightly. I was just listening to "The Air" by Modest Mouse, which you should never listen to on an empty stomach. I touched Sophomores, which I often do. We joked about taking out the control room supervisor with piano wire to visit my good TV Studio friend Ian Straka. We put our hoods on and acted shady like modern mobsters or Breaking Bad-esque assassins. I am fainting again. We joked about cooking meth as well. Luckily, one of them caught the reference and they didn't take us too seriously. I was hyper as anything and spouting out drug lingo like it was my job. How I wanted to bust these chilluns. I say to them, "Yo Guys, I could be working for the local law enforcement and you would have no idea." They said nothing. I said this because a young, handsome fellow who likes to hug me was saying that he wanted no part in a party at this other sophie's house unless there was weed or alcohol. HA! Methacton. I saw Braden. I saw Ben. I saw Nikki. I saw some gone girl laying on shorts. I saw some Tony child I used to know. No, I didn't date him. He was from Barkley. Is this what Gotye has taught you? He was nice. Somehow they stopped hearing me. They tuned me out. They wanted my abandoned home, which I called a local meth lab (in Season 5 of Breaking Bad, they cooked meth in large middle-class home that were being fogged for bugs by a pest control company). I hope people realize I'm joking because Nick legit got Seniors to believe he was in the meth business today.  Oh, Hi. *smooch*. Oh, Hi. *smooch*. Oh, Hi. *smooch*. "Who's been bloody smoochin'?"

Anyhow, I ran over and raided the Moldy Palace with my new business partners and Sankt Nikolaus. We turned lights off and let Braden and the other two come look for us. And yes, they kissed and they kissed until their lips split. I heard them. I turned off the lights and left the room, and five seconds later I heard breathing. I mean, people normally breathe. But I could hear this from the other room. Why am I typing this? Sometimes, you gotta take full measures. "No more half measures, Walter". I had them in the palm of my hand. I gave them an inch and they took a kilometer.

Eventually we regrouped after I took to the floor in pain at the sight of another kiss on the bleeding lips of America's floodlight flagrantly flaming footholds of flirtatious fallacious flight. What? Haha. We went back, and Sir Pollack was planting one on the girl who feels comfortable in man laps. We saw this from the dark street, them underneath the outside school lights. It was insane. This kid, never thought he had it in him. I also never thought he'd be such a GOD-DANG fool and a rude little munchkin talking crap to his superior, elder and friend. Goodnight, sweet prince. You put some lump of female before a man, he calls you "gay" and walks off down the road. That's alright. It's Friday. I'm used to it. Now, don't go in my house or I'll paint it red for the new owners with your young bloods. I don't care how friggin' antsy you're getting in your pantsies. This ain't some Hotel. In fact, in means a lot to me. 16 years. What've you got? Do I have to walk you children home or make accommodations? I ought to smack every dang one of ya. Right upside the greasy, bumpy head. It's because they try. You know what happens? You boil down a month of getting to know people from the grade under you and trying to improve relations with everyone on a basis of acquaintanceship? You get me and you against the bleeding world. Maybe. Just maybe, you're one of them jawns that don't betray. God-fearing. All ya'll others can take the fences you press against squeeze your oily skin through it like them Play-Doh tubes. Then you'll be like slimy carrot sticks, and I don't eat vegetables. Keep to your own, that's the moral of the story. Or go older, because God knows St. Luke and St. Nicholas have skipped a maturation year or something. Maybe we'll sprinkle days of acting like womanizers who make out with brand news throughout the year to keep ourselves grounded. Sometimes My Little Pony is really their little pony and not your's. "You'll bleed to feed the demon in me if you don't change your evil ways and end this peacefully."

You can recycle plastic. You can't recycle friends. God, that was stupid. And that's all I got for the night, I'm exhausted. It's this, YGS #39, teethbrushing, then straight to the sack o' sheets. I hope someday I'll know a girl who doesn't make me generalize all women as "evil". IF THEY EVEN EXIST. And don't none o' ya'll old men come up to me and say, "You'll find the right one eventually." SHOVE OFF AND GO ABOUT YOUR BUSINESS, OLD MAN.

John Reeves

"I watch my neighbor's son play with his shotgun in the street. I think I'll blaze all day and marvel at the mass of food I eat. It's strange, I'm skinny when I'm standing ,but I'm Buddha when I sit.  And if I'm truly so enlightened,  why'd I waste your time on it? As I look back at countless crossroads, in the middle where I stay,  right up the beaten path to boredom where the fakest f**ks get laid By the faux-finest finds, It's been that way. Gosh darn you, how you stay, with every scummy, crummy hour of the scummy, crummy day! These are my friends, this is who they have been for always. These are my days, this is how they stay. These are my friends, this is who they remain forever. This is how we stay." - Yellow Cat(Slash)Red Cat by Say Anything. I'm sorry, I had to quote this, despite its obscenities. It describes the silence of the past couple days and it is one of my favorite songs.

Today was chemical. Unlike yesterday, I wasn't tired beyond the point of being able to walk down stairs, so I actually went to school. For breakfast, I had a White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Clif bar. It was delicious. I love picking those out and trying new flavors. Least favorite = Chocolate chip. I continued to watch Willy Wonka in Film Studies. Gene Wilder is amazing in that, and his lines are priceless. In Math, the seniors (90% of the class) went to the auditorium or wherever they liked apparently, and we did our benchmarking math tests on the Mac laptops. It was surprisingly challenging, compared to the English ones. I actually got Below Basic on one section. This is unheard of. But overall I got Advanced because I got 100% in everything else. You don't really want to know this, do you? Ol' Toothless weren't at lunch today, subtracting from my overall mental well being. I had a Peanut Butter Crunch Clif bar. Dante L. Collazo, after staring at me while his My Little Pony figurines were laid out on the table, left us. It was just me and Braden, then he left as well. I followed him as to not be that kid. However, there is almost no Juniors in my lunch so I can be as weird as I want. This Freedom is something new to me and I love it, being older and independent. I can't be too much myself or even speak in front of my peers or Seniors. However, I could sing a ballad to a Freshman if I wanted to. Biology was a great time, considering we did a lab where several extremely suggestive jokes could be used. Too much fun with the German Gretzer and the Anglicized Kaufmann (Coffman) in das Double Lab. Ja? German was interesting for some reason. Maybe because it was all review and I actually knew what she was saying. We read a depressing poem about a delusional, dying child (Goethe). Ian and I discussed the hilarious Bad Lip Reading series on Youtube, where they seamlessly dub over politicians and make it look they are seeming totally random, often silly things. AP Gov't gets more and more interesting to me as more and more of our students fall asleep. Mr. Burns is dryly humorous, and for some reason, he endlessly entertains me with his extensive knowledge on political events. Apparently my sister had him and called him by the Simpsons character, "Smithers". Nick came over after school and we went downtown. We enjoyed Artisan's and he got some records from the Steel Eagle. I also saw Sinatra today in the halls. He is still as beautiful. Sometimes I think, somewhere deep down inside, there is a pure, unaffected, precious nugget of Frankie tucked underneath all the medication and fickle, harmful hormones. Then I wake up and smell the bloody Wolf. I bet you were wondering when I'd plunge into the mucky waters of deeply personal metaphors. Thank you, thank you. I'll be here all throughout this blog.

So, after the brick-laden paths downtown gave me enough Sun, I decided I'd drop in on Mike at Marly's. Unfortunately, I noticed a large white van parked diagonal in their small parking lot with a faded, metal sign on the back advertising the restaurant. I figured this Dolphins fan was the boss, Mike (not my brother), who is notoriously unfiltered in the nature of his diction, so I trotted on up the Reeves Park to enjoy the trees and their good friend, the Sun. A Freshman from my Film Studies class (the only other one who actually is interested in film) who is a fan of my BTTF shirts that I wore the first week said, "MCFLY!" as I walked by the baseball diamond he was playing on at the park. I waved, then slowly calculated my remark and cooled my pipes for social interaction. I yelled, "I THOUGHT I NEVER TOLD YOU TO COME TO REEVES PARK". He yelled back, "WHAT?", and I disregarded him with the condescending hand-wave. I sat on the stone stage and thought of writing a letter to the Borough asking them to repaint the concave wall with strange acoustics. Some students I am not too fond of scrawled their names across the back with pen. I watch the seats, the flag, the leaves and the Sun.

Minutes pass, and all the while I am listening intently to a rowdy group of 5 Elementary school children playing with a kickball. I consider chewing them out for kicking a ball precariously close to a slowly strolling group of 4 women, one adolescent, one infant, one adult, and one elderly. They were delicately striding along and circumventing the radius of danger created by the loud boys. They looked like angels. They looked like Temperance League women from the 1920s. Their cloud of estrogen had no noticeable effect on the boys. They kept on playing, even kicking the ball closer to the swiftly swimming swans.

Not long before my visit to the park, I considered yelling at a young man in his late 20s for yelling at his wife. They were both on bikes, the wife holding the leash of their thin, brown dog. They were attempting to cross a busy, rush-hour street. He looked like an aged Luke Wilson with a shaved head. Was that me from the future? I am not so callous in female presence. I wanted to yell at him, saying, "HEY JERK, SHUT YOUR MOUTH. YOU ONLY LIVE ONCE, DON'T BE A BUTTHOLE." But instead, I cut his neck with a piece of glass and watched him bleed out as I kissed the pale, shaking widow passionately. This didn't happen. Don't contact the police, please.

Back to the chilluns. That's right, that's from To Kill A Mockingbird. I believe so, anyways. I say it all the time. Two of the children were dark, African-American boys who live very close to me. Their father is straight from Africa. One child was much lighter, and had a voice I kept mistaking for a young girl's. There was a rather scruffy white child nicknamed "Harrison", and a chubby child. The chubby child was endlessly complaining to the light child that he wasn't being his friend enough and that he wouldn't hang out with him and how Harrison's mom wouldn't let him in their house. I felt for this kid, because he was getting pretty worked up at one point, even crying. The light child was having none of it, and nonchalantly gave him bland suggestions on what he should do in the two hours before the football game. The chubby child was constantly yelling back, saying how his suggestions were simply impossible to carry out. They kicked the ball around, and the chubby child would occasionally get fresh in a increasingly tense communication with the dark chilluns. I watched and listened, wondering if this hopelessly attention-seeking, desperately socially inept child would bring back enough memories to replace the pieces of my mind that were lost in the fire. Yeah, I went there. Now, I know watching young children for inspiration and mental stimulation is an inner-city Hipster thing to do, and also creepy (I even switched to the audience bench seats when they decided to play wall ball on the stage) But let me tell you this: I enjoyed every second of it. That didn't help, did it?

I went back to the baseball-playing Freshmen, after almost telling the roller-blading girl on the stage to be careful. She was Harrison as well. I just realized how useless this story is. Ah well, it helps me relax and dump out my thoughts that are filling my brain to the brim. Oh God, what an overused metaphor. Disgusting! Palpably derivative! There, I saved myself with delightfully pretentious vocabulary. Speaking of pretentious, we looked at a sample of an AP English AP test. It was challenging, and the selection to read was about the diction of a rhetorical orator, and how you want to be simple and clear while having the voice of an intelligent person. WHAT A TASK! But really, my thoughts really do clog up my head after I drink coffee. Literary and narrative ones, that I need to write down immediately or they grow stale and banal when repeated over and over on my mind's record player until the vinyl burns. I discussed annoying, rude women with a lone Freshman, borrowed a cell phone to tell my mom where I was, almost played football, almost played baseball, all the while realizing being older doesn't always make you a Deity to younger folks, as it inherently should. My shoulders hurt. Not only do I carry my backpack all day, but then I slouch and type my eyes off. Alright, here comes the good stuff. I guess.

Little rocks skipping across the water, sinking or floating. It doesn't matter really, because we are on this stage together. Just don't let the girls fall off.

Yeah, that's all you get today, I'm afraid. I'm going to the football game. Perhaps I will see Ponyboy, Steely-Eyes, Sinatra, Oblong, Ms. Jackson, the Pollack, Knocker, Casmay, Apoh, Mr. Place, Sir Cadigan, Bueller, Dory, My Heart, the Mother of Capitalism, the birds, etc. These are just nicknames for people. You know who you are. I guess.

Vexed to rest on you. This was a strictly informative, overlong, boring, desperately dull (reference) blog. I'm sorry if you read this far. "That's mighty linear, sheriff" "Age will flatten a man, Wendell".

Age sure will. Teenagers will speak the word to the children as if someday they'll remember the big kid who told them of pains and trials and tribulations and suffrage, and they'll think twice before they take hits from the bong, because Low Lifes do that. (I wrote that on a Biology table). No country for young men. Sometimes, you just need to come home. Sometimes, even the lucid and the exciting wake up to find a world like a dream. Unbelievable, fake, imaginary. My body moves without the little man inside's permission. Not even sure who I am anymore. Oh God, I used another one of those jawns. Saved by the colloquialism. I step on steps, I caress the bar, I rub the pavement, I let my eyes burn in the glare, I let my mouth move, but all I hear is her. "Desolation of the soul" - Howard Moon, discussing the Icy Tundra.

Some Blogs...

"When I see stars, that's all they are." - Some Nights by Fun.

The transitional period, where I float over the Rocks carefully, with little birdies tweeting softly nearby, waiting. Don't you dare let me fall again. Because this Ocean is very wide, and very deep. The blue birds and the black birds, the song birds and the swift birds. I awaken in the wake of the salty water Waves, and find myself sinking. The sweet Songs can't be heard from under the surface, and no Fish swims in this crashing and foaming Sea. But then again, God is the sun. And I can still see clearly the light of Day.

Brass blares and I cough and I spit. The barnacle being with no blood clutches my wet coat and lays me gently on the bunk. The Boat turns around and we're heading for shore. Rain, rain, goes away. Sun, sun, paints the day. With cap and Beard, cigar and smile, he drops anchor and curtails my stay. "Gotta go home", he says. "Be with life, for Earth needs your step". Soaking Isle of thick sand, sagging under overcast skies. I can hear music. Boop on the beep, and all that. Smoking, breathing lives, walking the boards and talking in hordes. I look around. I am sure the boat will be back again on another Stormy day, and with it, it's Captain.

Today was a major motion picture. The activities fair was interesting. I joined German Klub and SADD. Frau Tavani has always wanted me in the club because of my inherent, excellent German skills. SADD is Students Against Destructive Decisions like drinking and driving, texting and driving, smoking, etc. I am very passionate about this. We had thumb bands that said "RememberAlexBrown", immortalizing a boy who lost his life when he was texting and driving. It cut off my circulation for a while until my finger was amputated. And also, that smiley. And also, that traitor, across the way, reminding me of pain. Also, the monster Wolfman for whom I have major contempt and Luke Wilson fury. The GSA (Gay-Straight Alliance) tried hard to recruit me (they need boys). I would share my opinion on those females and their group, but it is controversial and far too Freudian to be taken seriously or nicely. They gave me Skittles and a business card, which remains in my breast pocket. I considered Photography Club. Come to think of it, I probably should have signed up for them. The hour we were given didn't allow enough deciding on my part. Perhaps the Gazebo Literary Magazine as well. I made jokes about how the singular man running the Business Club table could use his completely and blatantly clear table as a metaphor for a small business that could become a large enterprise. Seniors got in the way. Ultimate Frisbee's table was crowded with annoying and often rude people trying to join the group. It was insanely well-received. Then we all gathered round and were filmed, yelling "WE ARE PHOENIXVILLE!" I was in the front-most position, so I'll be seen by seers.

The Wolf, smiling, brings its steaming, soaking prey into black woods at orange sunset in its yellow teeth, frost water underneath. The Hunter stands, helpless, in the clearing, looking at the blood-smeared ground. He can smell the iron and feel the warmth of the pre-existing life. For whatever reason, he is struck with choking emotions at the picture. He knows that what the town calls "Animal", with all its flaws and faults, loves to be and deserves to BE. He takes off his cap, packs his gun away, and calls it a "Day". Because not many know how to resuscitate those delicate mammals with the white freckles. But he thought he could have saved her if he had just taken the shot and been off before the pack had time to organize and attack. But he thought he could have held her and have her feel human warmth, human love. But he calls it a "Day" until what they call "Night" falls. Then he lies in bed and calls out its name out to the clouds loudly, "LIFE. LIFE. LIFE."

Do I have to say much else? I can edit this and turn it into a real work of art. A genuine masterpiece. Mr. Hoffman says, "Love = to experience someone as real to you as yourself." I thought I loved this guy before. He's probably my favorite teacher of all time. So far, anyway. Animal Crackers are starting to make me sick. I am sick, after all. I am clogged into the infinite plane. Woah, that sounded cool. Death before decaf. I had a double espresso today. I did a guitar cover video today. I did well, with a couple of mistakes sprinkled on top of the Bon Iver cover cake. So many YouTubers do Bon Iver covers, it's ridiculous.

Uncle Brian is in the hospital with an enflamed pancreas and father lies around burning his throat open with ulcers and physical stress. Those are the Wilson updates of the day. Sound familiar?

I love you all so much. But that's probably the coffee talking. So, love the coffee back. You have no choice but to be trampled underneath the feet of my coffee-bean army. How unfortunate for you and your ICED TEA.

Love you. Goodnight. Hope you have a fantastic week.

Life from the bad seats.

Piledriver Blog.

"You think you're Jesus Christ. You think you're Jesus Christ. You're not my Jesus Christ. You're not my Jesus Christ." - Vexed by Say Anything.

Hello. How are you? My name is James J. Swollenkopf.

Today is congestion. Last night I shamelessly enjoyed McDonald's and eagerly picked out new flavors of Clif bars for breakfast this week. My sister rudely came to our house unannounced yesterday and ate everything we had. My head seems to be densely packed with rubber balls, pressing against my skull walls. Also, my nose is endlessly leaking. What is this? Nick gave this to me, the lousy Pollack. We've been playing this old, insane PS2 game, Burnout 3. You go about 300mph down a road where you can't see anything ahead of you and you try and make people go off the road. And when they do, they go flying. It's ridiculously fast and hilariously hectic. We love it. We call it "boop on the beep" because I once was talking during the game and got distracted by the game's insane events and ended a perfectly focused sentence with the completely ad-libbed line: "You know, like, boop on the beep." I realized what I had said and we cracked up.

I had my first AP English quiz today. I believe I did well, except for one part about "stasis" which I completely blanked out on. In Film Studies, the nerdy Freshmen lisped and ranted about baseball and we discussed camera movements, and I read an interesting description of the opening scene of Scarface from the textbook. Calculus H is always funny. And she's always more beautiful than I can comprehend. In lunch, we moved from our crowded four-seat nook next to a column, thanks to Mr. Furlong and his trailblazing seating ideas. We moved to a much bigger, empty table, and moved it against a column. Me and Braden Bowdish love our stone columns. And the sweet little birdies that flock and tweet around our chick-magnet faces. Ich habe Schnupfen. I need to watch that Honey Boo Boo show more often. It's like Chicken Soup for the Soul, and Lord knows my soul's been out in the Winter air too long. The good book and the bad book. That's why I didn't fight for her. Anyhow, I connected with a young blonde boy from the microscope days about his sketches he draws of interesting, contemporary houses in Biologie. Just hold this, for a second, please, kind stranger. Hold it with your arms and keep it safe while I tend to the bike lock.

That jawn be infatuated with the one I first been with. Now here we are with piles of skin and peach fuzz, curly hairs. They came out in threes, not held in place, weakly by a tender head. We've started the new frontier and named it after you. Trick-O.

With the wrapped one in Study Hall I thought of the May Days. Love them and pray for them.

German was German and Advanced Government was hardly Advanced, but interesting. Little birdies around the birdhouse. Little do they know the squirrel's in town. And he forgot his nuts, baby. The Fall air and breezes were out today and they were absolutely heavenly. I convinced Nick to walk downtown and visit the shop of coffee. I got a double Cuban machiatto for my brother and delivered it to him at his job, retrieving my hat from his car. We had Wegman's chicken and Netflix at his house, from driving there, but he insisted on riding his motorcycle home, all the way from Collegeville. I was peeved, but it was a cold and exhilarating ride. You just wait until I'm a rhetorical genius. I'll be blowing you away even more than usual. This one is dedicated to the Spanish War for seating us. There, I've laid it out with pyramids of language to unbuild and decipher. What else do you want from me? I've explained my heartache to everyone I know now. Why is my window open? To let cold air in? Very well. See that he is accomadated.

(does this mean we don't get ice cream? I've been hanging around these loonies for 4 months now, I deserve a treat other than those tiny, powerful pebbles)

BLOG AT THEE!

"Have at thee, false Christ I've been dreaming on."

These days, I don't feel anymore. I have become a mindless, emotionless shell of a man. I'll mow your lawn, I'll slice your grapes for your high-end meal and I'll take out the trash on Tuesday nights. I'll hang out, I'll chill, I'll attend family dinners, and I'll go to Wawa with Uncle Brian. But I won't love, I won't hug, I won't cry, and I'll never desire again. Because everything that is quintessential to a teenage boy's life has been twisted, painted another color, slathered in poison, boiled to a searing heat, and shoved down my throat. And to think, this is only the beginning.

Oh, you were considerate, weren't you? Here, at the bottom of the ocean, I laid. I had sunk from the Light and the air to a black, endless Abyss. Then you showed up with your tiny, submersible machine. You poked and prodded me with your tools and instruments. I thought I was saved. I'd be taken back to shore and I'd see the Sun again. You opened up the pod bay doors, then shut them closed. Then you revved your engines and surfaced again.

Now here's me, drowning.

Breaking Blog.

"You brought me to my knees. Your art, it brought me to my knees."

Today was made of rock and roll. AP English was interesting. Film Studies was even more interesting, as 60% of the class was gone. Leaving me, a Latino girl with little to no knowledge on the English language, and the teacher alone. I had to take notes on a certain shot of Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. I knew studying a comedy for cinematographic value was inappropriate, but not as inappropriate as the crude sex scene which was nearly unbearable to watch in that dark, quiet classroom atmosphere. My face was in my hands. No one said a word. Calculus was pleasant. Mr. Hughes is a polite, tall, humorous man who reads us things from a small book of life tips and refers to us as a "family". He must love mob movies or something. Lunch was incredible. I got the Freshman that sits with us to leave our table, leaving an empty seat for passersby. This includes chicks, and that's about it. Haha, oh misogyny. I had a young Mexican boy say "Heisenberg" and he sounded very much like Tuco Salamanca from Breaking Bad. Biology made up for its last two boring weeks of nothingness with a microscope lab, no matter how stupid the questions in the packet were. I got to see cheek cells of a young blonde boy who is the younger brother of a girl I once wrote a poem about. I was heavily caffeinated by a bitter, searing hot cappucino and feeling smitten that night. She was beautiful. German was ridiculous. We reviewed how to share preferences, me and Ian Straka reminisced about 7th grade, and Robert Miller made fun of my comment on hipster cred I made yesterday. I explained to him that my hipster reputation would be ruined if we were both seen to be wearing similar glasses. This school is only big enough for two Ray-Bans wearers. AP Government and Politics was interesting. To me, anyways. Most students in that large class signed up because they heard it was easy. Easy college credits attracts everyone. I printed out a current event on increasing U.S. involvement in war-torn Syria. Nick had to work today, so I walked home by myself, with no way of obtaining coffee. I ate a large mass of Animal Crackers and watched Boardwalk Empire until I fell asleep for 15 minutes and laid on the couch in half-sleep for 30 minutes. Me mum came home, and I told her to take me to Artisan's and added that she had no choice this time but to say Yes. Haha. I was dying, you understand. Literally, my brain was fading. I am fully awake now, and I am shirking my homework duties (they are simple enough). "You've got those tired eyes all the time". I like doing vocabulary.

Lights.
One bright.
One broken.
One beautiful.
Sirens.
One loud.
One quiet.
One sharp.
Flowers.
One blossomed.
One drooping.
One colorful.
Fish.
One swift.
One fierce.
One curious.

My eyes are growing into mini-cameras and my budget is low. I want to direct, I want to write, I want to film. It's ridiculous how much my life has become a movie. A living motion picture. A moving movie. "Know that you will be my downfall, but I call and I call and I call."

Nelson Van Alden, played by Michael Shannon, is my favorite character in Boardwalk Empire.

(This blog entry is fondly dedicated to a reader of mine, one Elizabeth Delany. She's a friend of mine. If you see her, greet her cordially and treat her to dinner. She enjoys Maggiano's. Also, buy her a large jar of sweet pickles. She loves them jawns.)

Blinded By the Blog.

"And surely, everything has blackened."

Today was water. I had no AP English, as we all sat in the auditorium waiting for the photographers to set up the cameras and lights and things. I heard her name and heard her laugh. I screwed up their photo seat and that me smile enough to last until the flash. They told me to scoot over, so I moved the whole seat. I mean, their directions were terrible. So, I smiled slightly more than last year. Appropriate, though my hair looked awful. "I'm standing on a stage of fear and self-doubt. It's a hollow play, but they'll clap anyway." Italics make quotes from young bands seem classical and respectable. I love old pictures. I want to go back in time so bad. See the Wilsons from the '60s and '70s, led by father Thomas Wilson, the almost gentle giant of the 1920s. Marcel A.Viti was an important Italian man who helped him in business. I am listening to One Direction, because you've got that one thing. You think young Brits would have more sophisticated grammar. Nothing has blackened, actually. I just wanted to quote D.a.t.H.

 

Soft and sacred, sweetly speaking.

 

ew that doesn't sound cool at all.

 

 

Me and Nick wanted to visit both antique shops today, both old and new. We cashed some coins and walked downtown, only to realize our journey through the humid brick halls of steel town was useless. However, we had a pleasant visit to Artisan's. Very pleasant. Thank you, Mathematicians. Because that's just who I am this week. The new antique shop looks legit. We debate over the identity of the interesting coat in the window. They replaced that God-forsaken Hookah Lounge, and Al Basha's red sign still hangs there, big and intimidating, though too high to notice. I should be doing homework, but this stuff is so easy. Checks and balances. I laugh in his face. Wooden houses and coffee-doused. I am soaking wet like the Micks of the '20s, in the beans. Mmmmm.

 

The Soft V.

Gliding O'er All.

"Look at me, Hector."

My brother, informally dressed, just treated me to a four-course meal at his restaurant tonight, his night off. I got nervous when I was told a man was to propose to his girlfriend there, then I was told he was to go to the river and play her a piano song with lights and roses and friends. People stab me everyday with their tales. Either way, I had some wontons with crab meat, then a Hangar steak with risotto and green beans and that was fantastic. Some brawling females attracted the cops and an ambulance to the "Pick". Michael's friends were sweet to me. I like Denny. He drew phallic shapes on our Pennacotta dessert plate in strawberry syrup, which are usually butterfly wings, apparently. The couple was so cute, but they stab me hard. Phoenixville is so shiny. Maybe it's my glasses. I want to watch Submarine and cry. Right after school, when Nick was off to his first work day, I walked straight to Artisan's with my brother. I tried the new Cuban-style espresso, my first cup by itself. It was delicious. I was shaking and bouncing off the walls. We had a pleasant chat with Richard about Italians and their cafes. Then I went home and watched hours of Boardwalk Empire. That show is for adults. Sometimes I feel weird watching it. The misogyny of it hurts me a little bit when I go into my mind and imagine and think. When we were walking to his car, we talked about Sobo and how he doesn't understand my disdain with his character. We happened upon his home, and I kept walking. I was polite enough to call Mike afterwards and inform him of my location and safety.

"Spores" by Say Anything is also misogynistic but sincere.

Pennsylvania Luke. That's me, blue and yellow, as I cock my head to the wind to deafen the blows. Yellow in hollow-bodied anxiety, blue in bleak reverie. Sorry, was that too AP English for an informal blog to the one? Ms. Santry has a talking study hall. Too bad the only one is the non-screwed up Deni that the girl kissed. "Did you ever really stare at me?" My body flashes with humid heat. You're so little. I don't waste. Dementors suck the happiness out of you with their kiss.

Gee, I hope you don't mean half the things you say.