that’s where it’s at:

Hey all!

I know it’s been a while since I’ve written anything. It’s been a rough year and I’m trying to get back into it. But I can tall you that I’ve started another site for my adventures as a teacher in DPS/ DPSCD if you’re interested in that too.

Feel free to check it out!

cityyearcityteacher.wordpress.com

I’ll be back soon, but I appreciate your patience while I’m beating blinksan back into writing!

Cheers!

~wolfhearted

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spirits/strumbellas:

I haven’t been ready until now, until tonight, to reflect on the endless permutations of disaster in the world. Some are natural, even though we wish they weren’t… Hurricanes, earthquakes and droughts happen everywhere. Starvation is a real issue in some places. People die of diseases that no longer bother Americans so they are ignored–which is a shame in itself. I am American, and I think about this all the time.

But then there are the possibly preventable tragedies that have shattered us even though maybe we aren’t directly affected. Something gets put in place to support it–new laws, firmer guidelines, harsher penalties–and ultimately everyone is treated differently because of it, another generation learns to be afraid of something else, and it becomes foggy memory, soon forgotten in all but the inconveniences that were once meant to prevent this tragedy from recurring.

Example: My fourth grade students don’t believe that 9/11 actually happened.

Never mind the fact that I can look it up, that I can show them actual photos from friends who knew someone there. Ignore the fact that the glorious Google machine (A.K.A the Internet) can pull up hours of video footage and horrific lists of names of dead, maimed, and injured… It’s simply not real to them, the way that the Vietnam war is real/not real to me.

I didn’t live through it, but at least I believe that it happened!

 

It’s Orlando on my mind these days. My kids (read: students) tell me that those queers, those gays, those mud-blooded mother-effing fags deserved every bit of what they got and that they are going to burn in Hell for their sins. My heart aches every time I hear them say something like that, because there’s a lot wrong with this picture…

Let’s start with the fact that they are 9, 10, or 11 years old for the most part. I can’t understand their language, let alone their hatred.The only thing I hated with that much intensity as a child was someone who would skin an animal alive or torture it in similar fashion.I don’t understand what there is to hate about someone or something different from yourself, and I can’t imagine what their worlds are like, because we all know kids practice what we “adults” preach.

Add to that the fact that I, myself, am with a same-sex partner, one to whom I am engaged (here I’ll call her Beloved, because I guess the world isn’t always as safe as it seems and I don’t want anyone harassing her because of my loud-mouthed opinions). Granted, my students don’t know that; they know that I am engaged, and since the question has never come up I have never said anything to any students about it. I will admit to using gender-neutral pronouns when I am able, and so far my students haven’t made an issue of it, if they have even noticed. But they stand on their pedestals and tell me that people who love someone of the same gender all should be wiped off the Earth by God’s wrath, and I feel myself die a little on the inside, because who are they this young to shut out a world full of beauty just because it doesn’t fit their parent’s narrow mind-view?

The best part is, they have actually met Beloved. They know her, and like her, and enjoy when she comes to school. She tells them stories and brings them treats, and I know her heart aches as surely as mine does because they can’t set aside their conditioning long enough to understand that different doesn’t mean bad.

Let’s add another thing: I am the only Caucasian person in my classroom, and one of only maybe ten in the whole school. Admittedly, I have a very limited understanding of African American culture, especially in Detroit, but I do know from a friend who identifies as bisexual that it is much more deeply and often painfully frowned upon in African American culture than it is in Caucasian culture… but that’s not really where I was going with this.

What I was reaching for here is that my kids can set aside their biases, because they do it every day. They have never called me racist or made any statements that indicate they feel our skin color comes into it. I have literally heard them say racially-prejudiced things about every other teacher, but I haven’t heard it toward myself even once. Probably, it just means they are smart enough to not let me hear them… but it means they have the ability to think. And I know they question my lifestyle as a white woman because they ask me all the time what the world is like for me. (On a fun sidenote: My students don’t believe that I am legitimately white, because white people don’t work in Detroit. Having olive skin means I kind of struggle with explaining that whole white thing, but we ultimately decided as a class that skin color isn’t important in our classroom.)

So if they can set aside their confusion about my skin color, why can’t they set side their convictions about gay relationships?

 

 

So now, instead of celebrating my love with Beloved, we are retreating. We don’t want to–can’t stand to–lose each other. So there’s no holding hands at the grocery store, no slow kisses in the park, no arms around each other in doorways and shy smiles over dinner… now we walk and try not to notice to gulf of space between us, the emptiness where the love seems to have been leached away by hate–of different generations and different cultures–and try to keep our chins up because we are no fainting lilies.

That doesn’t make Spirits play any less loudly in my head, though, as I acknowledge that one day, that lover on the floor, that fighter, could be me.

I spent a lot of nights on the run
And I think oh, I’m lost and can’t be found
I’m just waiting for my day to come
And I think oh, I don’t wanna let you down
Cause something inside has changed
And maybe we don’t wanna stay the same

I got guns in my head and they won’t go
Spirits in my head and they won’t go
I got guns in my head and they won’t go
Spirits in my head and they won’t go
But the gun still rattles
The gun still rattles, oh
But the gun still rattles
The gun still rattles, oh

And I don’t want a never ending life
I just want to be alive while I’m here
And I don’t want a never ending life
I just want to be alive while I’m here
And I don’t want to see another night
Lost inside a lonely life while I’m here…

Bits and Pieces

The music softly lilts through my ears, echoing promises of things I can’t even begin to conceive.  The ideas rush through my mind in waves, soft flashes of color, jumbled words and pieces of bodies.  I want to reach up and pluck down different parts, toss them into a blender and drink the results.  Maybe, then, something different will come out, rather than the same old shit, retold every other day.

I need creativity.  I need life.  I need… new.

constellations:

my thoughts are stars I cannot

fathom into constellations under

the velvet-black sky, pinpricks

lighting it from millions of light-years

(and time-years too)

away.

 

what beauty there is beneath the

dancing night lights,

bands of purples and greens rippling

across a truly-dark sky

split only by the moon’s cheshire-cat grin

and the knowledge that we are a whisper in the farthest corner of the universe,

or are we just a shout into the void?

 

either way, my fingers laced through yours make everything new again,

a great big world limned in shades of dark love

and light stardust.

surprise:

well,
not really. i’m left
standing, sitting, waiting
(again, but it’s not like
i should really have expected
anything to change after all)
for a breath i can’t draw in
through a history too convoluted
to want to abandon.

is it something i said that leaves me
hanging endlessly
into this aching space,
staring at my hands and
twisting my fingers together?

why have a heart
when each beat is a hollow sound
against the inside of my chest,
the sound of wet sand
blurring yesterday’s songs?

time flies when:

the tears of time slip indiscriminately down

the weathered face of the Father himself,

tumbling grain over rough grain into

the hourglass,

the source of the Lethe springing forth

from endless precious moments.

 

when the glass is full and turned,

will we live backwards,

dying to oldest to old

to young to younger and

then to trembling youngest?

or will we just vanish,

rewound into oblivion and vanishing into the

far-distant, uncertain future to possibly never be?

 

do those moments unspin themselves,

gossamer strands of sunlight rewinding and

drifting away, each grain of sand

crumbling and simply vanishing within the glass?

Or do they stand as a dull monument,

frozen between falling and settling, reminding us

of everything that has come before?

 

Disarray

I want to collect my thoughts.

When I think of you, all I think about is soft lips, handsome face and booty cheeks.

I know you hate it when I point all of your good qualities out, but I wish sometimes you could see yourself the way I do.  When I met you I knew there was something different about you… I’m not good at speaking words, but writing, you know that’s where I excel.

So pay no attention while I brainstorm, and as the thoughts come to me I’ll jot them down here.  Hopefully it’ll help to get my creative juices flowing once again.  You may not realize it, but you motivate me every day even if I seem to be lazy.

I wish I could repay the kindness you’ve shown me in the three short months we’ve been on this adventure together, but I don’t even know where to begin.  So I’ll do the only thing I know how, write.

But when I think of you, my vision becomes cloudy and my heart beats in time with the gentle hum of your voice.  It’s like each time I talk to you, even now, a swarm of bees takes up residence in my mind.  And when I think of you they come back, haunting every channel of my mind, causing everything to become a swarming, jumbled mess.

So this is my attempt to jot down, over the course of your birthday month, the things that remind me of you.  The small snippets and things that you make me feel.  At the end, I’ll show it to you.  ^^