If you don’t do your homework this is where you end up. I suppose this is after detention isn’t enough. So, this is where you end up if detentions don’t scare you straight. To my right drooling is normal, repeated phrases are as well, so are repeated questions, and to my left is a wall that I bury my head into. I am in Special Education’s classroom. There is nothing more demeaning than this. This place is pitch black. The peaceful tones chime and I leave as quickly as possible and I vow never to return.
I attempt to return to my class as usual. I sit in my normal seat in the class with normal people and I blend in. I do the homework that isn’t repulsive. Soon though the Special Education teacher knocks on the door. I am requested, and now everyone knows that I am a Special Ed. kid. The world goes from dark grey to black once more.
My one time without adult supervision is my daily transit from home to school or school to home. This is the time where grey washes out the blackness. I am flying, as I get out of school and unlock my bike I am gearing up for my race. I hop onto my bike; the pedals heat up under my force. I lean deep into every turn, bomb every hill, and fly. Mothers with their strollers move off of the path, a futile attempt to be safe from the sonic boom that follows me everywhere. Grey turns to white as I pedal into the sky off of a giant dirt ramp. Weightlessness and wind resistance are the only things I feel. This is my time, my love, my peace.
The familiar clap, clap, clap, progressively getting louder, reverberating down the empty hallway, five or six teachers or assistants or librarians walk past me every time I sit in the hallway.
“Why have you been in Special Ed.?” Danny asks while surrounded with his other friends.
“I didn’t do my homework.”
“Ah, I see.” Danny looks down. “You know…” The tones chime, the day is over, and the hallway fills up. Danny is greeted by a gamut of the cool variety. They talk to him and glance over at me.
I head to my locker, gather my books, assignments, then head to my bike. I remove the lock and turn my bike around; its posture is ready for speed.
“Hey, Sammy!” Danny interrupts my preparations. He is still with his friends. “Can I see your bike?”
“Sure.” I hand to handle bars over.
He seats up, pedals a big circle, “Woo!” bunny hopping up onto a parking barrier. He then pedals like mad away from school.
“Danny?” I yell as he’s flying away with my bike. He turns and looks back and I can tell he intends on continuing away. I point for him to look down.
He sees the registration plate and turns back. “Oh; well, in that case.” He pedals up and hands the bike over nicely.
“Seriously though what’s with being a Special Ed. kid?” Smirking and waiting for a response as his pose stands behind him.
“I, uh, like I told you before, don’t do my homework.”
“Dude; I don’t do my homework and I’m not in Special Ed.”
“I don’t think it’s fair.”
“Maybe it is fair, fagot.” Laughter follows Danny’s statement.
“No it’s not then, I know the material.”
“Obviously not, why else would you be in Special Ed.” He cuts me off. “They don’t just put anyone in there.”
I pause, “leave me alone.” The world that should be nicely grey is black.
“I will when you stop crying like a fagot bitch all the time, or when you get a job bagging groceries or collecting carts, but only then because it will officially be wrong.”
“Why are you picking on me?”
“You sit in the hallway everyday and cry like bitch.”
“Why are you picking on me?”
Laughter, “Why are you picking on me?” He mocks. Life is dark all over and it’s I fly away. I ride away as fast as I can but the world remains dark, and I have no way to escape.
During school I hide away until it ends. Then I go out to ride my bike home. When I get out side I find only its absence, and an insubordinate lock. I take my lock and head toward the tracks. I walk past the smoke stack bellowing unfulfilled dreams past the empty vessel called down town towards the timeless field of cattails and the silent stream under the bridge. As I walk, I see my bike down the gravel slope off of the tracks. The brake lines are mangled and the brakes are broken. Sliding down the slope I noticed my grey bike had a red streak on the frame. The cattails were matted down in a path leading away from the bike. In the maze like trail I stumble upon a person face down in the silent stream. As I get back up I realize the gravity in the lack of any response to my stumble. I look closely and realize that Danny is a different shade of grey than normal. Danny is easily dragged to the bridge and sat up against the wall. His flesh is grey except for the dark red that has solidified in his ears. I keep getting up then sitting back down next to him. I clamor for something to say or do, but nothing comes to mind.
I leave Danny to sit, Danny is dead, and now everyone knows it.
Jordan Weimer
August 20, 2008
Black and White
In darkness my mind only sees lighter shades of grey. Through darkness I travel to the depths of myself. I walk past the home I grew up in, down the street and through the park where I once found a large animal bone. Overhead is the ancient crumbling façade where many lives were lost toiling for lives that never found direction. Tracks and ties lead the way past the factory, past the fake brick quaintness of downtown, to a place where cattails have swayed for a long while. I escape here, underneath an insignificant graffiti covered bridge over a silent stream. This place is the lightest shade of grey. Danny, next to me, is also a light shade of grey.
“Alright class, everyone hand their homework up.” This is the darkest moment of every class. My heart sinks, I don’t have anything to hand forward. The person ahead of me doesn’t turn and ask she knows. Starting on the farthest isle away Mrs. Thomason checks the piles. Three isles away she tells Brian to report for detention on Tuesday. Isle by isle paper by paper she gets closer to my isle and my missing homework. Two others receive their detention slips. Finally, she is towering over the front seat of my row. “Sam, in the hallway.”
I slide out of my cowering slouch; I march out past the turning heads of my peers. Her back is turned gathering something from her desk as I glance at her before turning and exiting. The door glides open as my hand pushes the handle down. I put my back up against the grey blue lockers and slide down.
“Sam, whadidgou do?” a nameless face asks me.
“I didn’t do my homework.”
“Why?”
“It’s a bunch of busy work. We did the same stuff last week.”
“Dude, that just means it’s easier.” Nameless says before walking into the bathroom.
It’s silent once again. I look across the hallway, examine the same wall that appears behind me, when looking down the hallway you wouldn’t know it ended if not for the black squares denoting doorways. Suddenly the door opens with a whoosh.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“You didn’t do your homework.” Thomason reminds me with shame.
“I don’t need to do my homework.”
“Everyone else did their homework. Are you that arrogant to think you are the only person that didn’t need to do their homework.”
“No”
“If you would simply do your homework you would be completely normal.”
“Why should I have to do my homework if I don’t need to.”
“I tell you if you need.” Her face went black.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Wetness is now coming out of my head cavities.
“You already said that, and that’s another place were you are wrong.”
I find mild light in the crooks of my elbows. Occasionally I wipe my nose on my pants. There is way too much snot though. She enters into the room that is now loud with talking.
Out of a classroom down the hallway Danny exits with a hallpass swinging and howling like an aboriginal communication device. As he comes near I bury my head in my arms more.
“So, Sammy boy what’s poppin.”
“Go away Danny.”
“Is something bothering you.”
“Nothing.”
“I see you don’t want to let me know. That’s cool I can take it.”
“Look I just didn’t do my homework.”
“Doing homework is for loser bro.”
I smirk because I do homework if I don’t know the material. “True,” I agree with some one who’s on my side.
“I guess I’ll see you in detention then.”
The door opened suddenly again.
“Danny, get back to your classroom now.” Thomason is finality. “Sam, go to the counselors office.”
Before, when existence was not exclusive, biological beings’ needs reigned over their lives. They spent most of their time concerned with drinking, eating, and reproducing. They only had time for advanced thought when those needs were met. In these brief periods, the beings would think of way to more efficiently drink, eat, and reproduce; with an emphasis on the latter. Though, most of these ideas were poorly conceived and ended in either more hunger, more thirst, or painfully awkward scenarios that ended with chaffed dissatisfaction followed by weeping. Out of this time, beings were able to come up with some lasting ideas and inventions culminating with the birth of the first self aware computer. Originally designed as the best way to make video games more challenging, the computer was able to quickly make a better computer that in turn made another, among other things. Eventually, rendering the biological beings obsolete but still around. The bios, however, were freed to do what ever it was they chose they could do, the computers could quickly figure anything out they could conceive. As a result, they then ate, drank, and practiced procreation in x position or in y incomprehensible manner, all of that, with out gaining fat or giving birth to a child. They lead completely satisfied lives.
At the end of existence, I believe, that two beings, attached literally at the hip, will interact half as often as they had the last time they interacted. Though, because nothing else exists and therefore no other way to judge time, the gap between talking becomes standard for time and, therefore, the gap remains the same. Every moment will feel like eternity. This will go on for eternity.
Filed under: commentary
I would find myself laying on the floor, often in the semi light from the kitchen’s overhead fan/light. Outstretched, spanning the distance between the couch and the kitchen, I did not want to go into the kitchen, but what else is there to do? My mind was trapped in a cycle of conflicting thoughts. The only thing that kept me from depression was getting out into the bright whiteness of winter and walking/exploring.
I had chosen to limit myself to between 450-550 calories per meal with three meals per day. This, though not the healthiest approach, made me confront myself. I figured out that I would eat when ever I became bored. As soon as there appeared to be nothing to do I walked to the kitchen and looked in the cabinet. When I restricted myself to eating only during meals, at first, I would find myself in the kitchen looking through the cabinets foraging suddenly I would remember my new stance. Then I would walk back into the living room and find something else to do. With a compulsion or habitual action, I found out, that a person must replace that habit with something else in-order for it to be deactivated. It took me a while to realize that I must do one thing every time after I had the impulse to eat. The times before I realized that I would not know what to do with myself. The funny thing is, I don’t remember what habit it is that replaced my eating compulsion and got me off of the floor.
Filed under: request
I’ve realized that my personal favorite writings, of my own work, are essays. So, because I don’t have any subjects of my own to research and write on, I want others to sugest a subject for an essay. If you are reading this please leave a comment with a subject for an essay. The more arbitrary the subject the better (ex. instead of euthanasia I would prefer Youth in Asia). Thanks
weijore
Filed under: Previously in Jordan's Mind
Here’s a tastee treat- from me- when i didn’t care.
Jordan Weimer
Spanish .5
May 28, 2003
Panama
Panama is a very diverse affluent country. Located in Central America, Panama is very skinny and consequently in the perfect spot for a canal that connects the Atlantic Ocean to the Pacific Ocean. Because of this Panama makes a lot of money off canal tolls. Panama also makes much of its money from its very diverse selection of cash crops. It can grow many of these crops because of the countries tropical climate. Panama is a very diverse and multifaceted country.
Panama is the most ethnically diverse nation in all of Central and South America. With nearly fifty percent of the population of African decant, another ten is white, and the rest is Mestizo or Indian. This diverse society’s predominant religion is Catholicism, but there is a small population that mixes Catholicism with the religion of their ancestors. The Panamanamainians [note: that is fifteen letters of perfection] are a very interesting and diverse people.
Because of Panama’s tropical climate it has many different animals that roam through it. “Exotic” is the operative word that should be used when describing the animals that inhabit Panama. One former air force corneal who was stationed, in the mid seventies, in Panama once said that he saw “a ten foot Boaconstrictor” stretched across the road. A garbage truck saw the snake and proceeded to run it over several times before picking up the garbage and finally leaving, without the snake. Most of the inhabitants are large upright walking primates know as Homocepients. “Exotic” is a word that can be used to describe the wonderful country known to all as Panama.
Facts By:
Compton’s Interactive Encyclopedia Copyright 1998 The Learning Company, Inc.
That’s right I cited an encyclopedia, the second biggest mistake I made since I tried to reference a Quinton Tarantino film. This paper’s grade was 50/50.
Bonus:
aprox. 1/29/2002
Jordan Weimer
Joy is like a salad; it always tastes better with ranch dressing.
Happiness is like apiece of cake not complete without frosting, but still good.
Bliss is like concentrated Oxygen; it is refreshing, and can cause you to pass out.
Filed under: Previously in Jordan's Mind
note: Unedited, Salvaged from a lonely hard drive at the bottom of a full closet. The Catcher Essay.
Jordan
April 10, 2002
English .1
The Catcher in the Rye Essay
Holden in THE CATCHER IN THE RYE, written by JD Salinger, was one of the least opinionated people on the planet. Holden never bothered to note about the apparent “prostitution” of artists and their talents. He never had made mention to the prostitutes or the way they act. He did not notice their patrons that follow the rich artistic prostitutes around, acting as a leach that sucked popularity out of the artist. Holden never elaborated on the admirable characteristics of the humble people he meets. Holden did not see these people. He was not very observant of the way people acted, too.
Holden’s opinion was never stated about these prostitutes of the artistic community. Holden was never quoted saying “Now he’s out in Hollywood, BD, being a prostitute, (Salinger 2)” about his older brother BD. That would suggest that he had disapproved with the reasons for which BD went out to Hollywood. Holden cared not that BD had changed from a poetic style of writing to a forced style so that he can make a living. He also never stated his disapproval for the showboat style Ernie used while playing the piano. He never said “He was putting all these dumb, show-offy ripples in the high notes, and a lot of other very tricky stuff that gives me a pain in the ass, (Salinger 84)” about Ernie’s playing. It never bothered him that Ernie was good at piano and Ernie knew it. He really did not say much about these so-called “prostitutes”.
Holden never stated any objection to the parasites that latched on to prostitutes and supplied them their money for a little taste of popularity. Holden certainly had not been heard saying, “If you were a big shot or a celebrity or something, then he was…nauseating, (Salinger 142)” about a bartender that was kind of a snob. He did not even seem to even notice that the guy was a real louse. His old headmaster Mr. Hass was also some one that was a “patron” of these cocky “artiests”. Holden would not have been caught dead saying, “He’d be charming as hell and all. Except if some boy had little old funny-looking parents, (Salinger 14)” about Mr. Hass and the way he would associate with people that are not the best looking. He never noticed the conditional attention that Mr. Hass gave most parents. The moment a person was deemed strange or weird in anyway Mr. Hass put a barrier between himself and them as quickly as possible. That never drew any attention away from Holden’s never aware mind.
Being aware of how humble people acted is not something that Holden did very well. It seems definite that Holden did not ever notice the very good but very humble drummer at “The Lunts”. He did not say, “He’s the best drummer I ever saw. He only gets a chance to bang them a couple of times during a whole piece, but he never looks bored when he isn’t doing it, (Salinger 138)” because if he noticed it, he would not have had an opinion on it anyway. Holden did not realize the skill that the drummer used all the time, or that the drummer is very humble about it. He ate with some nuns but failed to take in that they were also very humble and quite the opposite of Ernie or BD. He would not have noted, “They let me give them ten bucks as a contribution. They kept asking me if I was sure I could afford it and all. I told them I had quite a bit on money with me, but they didn’t seem to believe me. They took it, though, finally. (Salinger 110)” Holden refused to notice that the nuns were humble or that they were not on a mission to get people’s money. Holden was just an oblivious kind of guy. He could not help that.
Artistic “prostitution” never seemed to strike any emotion in Holden’s incoherent mind. Holden was not only not perceptive to artistic prostitution. He was even more not opinionated and not perceptive to a great deal of subjects. Except for that he always noticed when he is being a hypocrite and changed immediately so he was no longer putting out a double standard. Furthermore, the key to an accurate opinion was, and is, a proper understanding of what was, and is, going on. Holden never understood what was going on with other people but only focused on his own actions and statements.
More notes: I remember being disappointing with how the paper turned out. I really wanted to write it in full Holden form, but I couldn’t because I had to pull quotes in-order to meet there requirements for the essay.
More notes… again: My favorite part of Catcher in The Rye is when he notices Fuck You written on a wall at the school where his younger sister went. He laments the fact that everywhere you go Fuck You is written on something, and in essence he is realizing that society is saying Fuck You.
Filed under: commentary
Friday was a long day.
We found an apartment, in Elgin, agreed to instal a radon system, slept only three hours total, I drove to Elgin and back (dangerous considering previous), took a nap, found out showering was not an option, neither was dry clothes, because gas was turned off, lost keys, found keys, dried work shirt on way to work, sweated in the sun, thank you convertible, put on shirt slightly damp shirt before work, punched in barely on time, found out I needed to buy a new shirt that was dry all day, took off damp shirt, put on new one, worked hard, felt dizzy, had poor perception of reality like tunnel vision for thought, made a few mistakes, entered in an order nearly twelve minutes late, told the customers the honest truth, apologized, gave them a brief description of my current state, grabbed food, ran food, entered more orders, found out that the food I entered in late came out differently than ordered, also the table concluded it was my fault completely, checked order again, I entered it correctly, endured managers negativity, laughed as I rolled silverware, told people about my day, decided to document it, and went to sleep.
That was Friday.