ma tentative de jeu

Scene 1
Setting: Classroom in Suburban High School in New York. The room is filled with an assortment of students that add up to thirty students lined up in 5 rows with 6 students in each row. A Student Teacher is leaning on the windowsill of the middle window on the right side of the classroom, facing the students. Twenty year old, olive skinned Student Teacher sips Starbucks coffee as she watches the 27-year-old, Spanish History Teacher scribble notes on the board on the Ascension of Hitler to power before World War II. After completing the notes she wanted the class to copy down for the day, she wheels around and sits back down on her desk that is to the left of the chalkboard. Some of the male students pause to examine her "assets." As soon as the teacher sits down, a student in the last seat of the middle row of the classroom raises his hand and the teacher answers.

Teacher: Yes?

Student: I was pondering something.

The student is the personification of stoicism. Blank face. No emotion. He does talk with a sort of whistle at the end of his phrases.

Teacher: Yes and what's that?

Student: You hate your job a lot.

Teacher: Excuses me? (Student Teacher chokes on coffee)

Student: You didn't get into the school you wanted to because you didn't listen to your mom and didn't join an extracurricular activity and had to settle for Hartford instead of Princeton. You were too busy giving favors to the track team before meets for that kind of crap. (Student Teacher starts to walk slowly towards the Teacher.) You crash and burn a little in college and save your GPA at the end and decide to go to graduate school where you acquire the nickname “Easy Susie” with the students for sleeping with the creeper graduate professor at Ohio University. You get a job as a teacher in a inner city school and your cocaine addiction from the second year in college starts to kick in and you decide to transfer to Easy Islip for the money and you know you only got the job because of the blowjob and an article in the paper about the lack of the diversity in Long Island School Districts so they actually hired two ethnic teachers this year. So the only highs you have in this workplace are when students gawk at your knockers, when you drink your coffee that you sprinkled with coke in the morning and when you use the janitor for a quickie every other week during your lunch break. Oh, and don't even get me started on your brother molesting you for 4 years and your father knowing for 2.

A piece of chalk falls from the board and you hear every inch of the chalk as it rolls towards the desk and it is stopped by the Teacher's desk. The Teacher gets up and picks up the chalk. She turns her back to the students and starts scribbling on the board. The students watch in silence as the letters spell out, I QUIT in yellow chalk create their own sort of shine against the deep blue of the chalkboard. She quickly exits taking her coffee mug and briefcase with her.

The Student Teacher lets out a long sigh and tells them that class is dismissed to go to Lunch or Late Hall and signs passes for all the students, but the lone student stays behind, waits one second and prepares to leave.

Student Teacher: How did you know that?

Student (still walking out of the door): Just a hunch. Or A guess. I made it up.

Student Teacher: YOU MADE IT UP?!

Scene 2
Principal Office. Midday. 50 year old, Levittown-Raised Principal fixes his toupee as he scrambles through records of the Student before him. The student’s hair is down to his chest, with a beard to match, straw hat and he crosses his feet to reveal scandals. Typical day for a principal.

Principal: My, my, my. You have an impressive record. Not only do you excel in all of your classes, ranked number 2 in your class, with a plentiful amount of clubs and leadership roles, you managed to also decorate it with plethora of disciplinary offenses such as causing the Riot of '06 which resulted in the defacing of all of our school mascots, trafficking banned books into our school district, accused of giving our special Olympics athletes drug enhancers to win races and causing one of tenured Teachers to quit and become a yoga instructor in LA. You are impressive. I say this now, because, that's my job as the principal. To see that my students are achieving their goals while at my school and at my school you listen to what I say. So, do you know why you are here?

Student (while uncrossing his legs): Nope.

Principal: Not even inkling? A guess? An idea?! God Almighty!

Student: Yes?

Principal: Sorry for the language. I am just frustrated with arrogant little twits like-

Student: Yes?
Principal: Why are you saying yes? I didn't call on you on you or anything-

Student: Why, yes you did. You said my name.

Principal: No, I didn't. This file says your name is... You are a trickster, you. You think you are a wise guy, don't you?

Student: No, I don't. Will you excuse me; I've got to go back to Home Ec…

Principal: YOU WILL GO WHEN I SAY SO, YOUNG MAN! Now, do you know why you are here? You know, you ingrate. We found 35 bottles of water filled with alcohol in your locker. The janitor told a teacher that your locker reeked of alcohol. I would know that smell from anywhere. Why did you have such things in your locker?

Student: It was fun. Life should be fun. Get a hold of yourself Seymour, if you mind me calling me Seymour. Wait. I don’t care. Just because your wife is cheating on you and you cradle a bottle of whiskey every night after you come back from the bar and don't see Kathleen in your bed next to you, doesn't mean you should take it out on us.

Principal: How do… You are a menace. A menace, I tell you. I will have you expelled, I tell you. Expelled!

Student: I needed to blow this place anyway. Talk to you soon, Seymour. Your mother is going to call again. Just lie to her again and tell her you will come visit soon, but you will be too late because the cancer is already spreading

Principal: I am going to kill you.

Student: It happens.

Principal: Jesus!

Student: Yes? You rang?

Principal: Shit! Go eat shit! Leave my office and go eat shit!

Jesus: Will do.


Scene 3
Same day. Jesus and his father are driving home from school after the incident with the Principal. They are at a stoplight, waiting for children to cross as well.

Father: You must be ashamed of yourself. You have brought the ultimate shame to our family. Expelled?! What do we do now? Find another school? We've been kicked out of 3 public schools and 13 private schools already and I don't know what to do about you anymore. You have sinned.

Jesus: We all have immortal sin, Dad.

Father: Do you ever listen? Do you want to learn? Do you want to grow as person, as a functioning member of this society? Do you want to be like me? Heck, look at me. I finished high school to become a carpenter. It pays crap. I want you to better than me. You know what I could be doing now if I didn't care about you? I could be retired already, living in Cape Cod or Block Island or something, but I don't do that. I love you so much. Don't you see that? I suffer for you so you can have a better life than me. So I can grow old knowing that you can take care of your mother and I in that state. Listen to me. I tell you this because I love you. You know that. Talk to me, son.

Jesus: I know. Can you stop lecturing me, please? I'm old enough, Dad. I get lectured enough by idiots who don't know how to maintain their lives and don't know a thing about what real knowledge is. Epictetus said is best when he states that, "It is impossible for a man to learn what he thinks he already knows." This world is plagued by madness and a universal feeling of settling into the mold that this is the way things are. Dad, I can't do that anymore. I can't.

Father: Come down, kid. You will be fine in time. What were you staying after for anyway?

Jesus shifts in car and does nothing but watch the clouds blanket the sky and the world transforms a few shades darker.

Father: Answer me. You might be God and all, but you are still my son and I am your father. Tell me.

Jesus turns to the window and watches a robin feed its babies in a nest. All the babies eager to ingest whatever food is given to them to guarantee survival.

Jesus (turns back): I stayed after for the debate club.

Father: Did you tell me you only stayed after for Home Ec.

Jesus: I quit that a while ago. Too boring. I went to debate once because of this hot girl in my History class and I feel in love. I become the captain after 2 weeks!

Father: How could you?

Jesus: What? It is just another club, Dad. Come down.

Father: I can't make you do it. Why am I so stupid? I am just there, aren’t I? You give him a plan. You give her a plan? Why not me? I get the bullshit, take care of everyone award. I think I got my biscuit through Holy Mail. You couldn't give him one thing that is similar? One thing that makes him mine? What did I do to deserve this?

Jesus: If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don't, they never were.

Father: You scare me sometimes, kid. In a good way.

Jesus: Dad! Watch out!

A driver who tries to beat the red light hits car on the passenger side. Fade to black. End.

Nowhere near complete, but I wanted to get this idea down before I forget it.
Tell me what you think. It would be greatly appreciated.

routine

wake at 8am
shower
brekfast
stretch
walk
snack
talk to peeps
read
lunch
mad man
movie
talk to peeps
snack
meditate
chill
dinner
chill
talk to peeps
plans?
sleep
repeat with some variations

déception finale

Disappointment sucks and I've felt it way too much this summer, I guess my whole life. There are always brighter days ahead, that's what everyone tells you when you feel that way. I know it is not the end of the world. I want to believe that I will be happier today or the day after or soon, but for right now, I don't understand my life and why it is this way. I want to know why. Jeez, I just sick of this feeling that's been drifting in and out of my life these days. I'm done planning my life out. I've stop predicting because it just worries you, but I've tried to change that stuff away from me, but what now? I look the world in a different light and nothing has changed. Nothing at all. I am at a lose. Why am I getting fucked over by people? I want to understand that, but I won't any time soon. If you have an answer, tell me because I am all ears. I am all ears to everyone and anyone. Tell me how you really feel about all this and me as a person. That is my challenge for all of my friends? But then it just looks like I am at the mercy of all of you and I don't want that. I shouldn't be talking about wants. I don't even really know what I want besides this stupid, stupid feeling to go away. This was a rant in a half. I am sorry. You probably won't read it.

très chaud

Yesterday made me refine the word hot in head. 90+ on Coney Island. I was sweating more than Bobbie Brown before a drug test. I was sweating more than a whore in church. It was so hot, I became to whore. I lived through the metaphor. I don't like my short story anymore. I am weird. I am rewriting it tonight and it will be up soon. I've been taking pictures again because my grandpa sent me a 35mm for no reason. My other one, I gave to my uncle because he needed it and now I have one again. I must read more. That's my plan for the week to come. Boring blog update. Come back later.

Catholicisme; Le Rêve Américain

I fucking hate church. I said it. Loathe it. Despise it. Everyday when I enter the square piece of shit parking lot that was "repaved" by the ‘Good’ Christians who believe they are helping a worthy cause I feel worse did I did already from waking up that early. Do they really know where their money is going? The priest probably bathes it in for all I know, but I do know they don't use it to fix up this worthless pile of bricks they call a church. But you must donate to the church or some bullshit like that. It's in the Bible or something. I could be wrong, I'm always wrong about shit like that. Trust me; I'm a Catholic.

My dad took forever to get ready this morning to go to church because he is a raging alcoholic, but when you tell him that, he says, "So Sue me. Oh, Sue. I should call her back from the other night..." My mom scoffs and smokes a cigarette in the carpeted master bedroom while she looks for something nice to wear to church. Nice means a short red dress with cleavage bigger than the state of Texas, black pumps and perfume that makes you think, "Yea, I like it in the ass." Oh, and she knows about my Dad. We have a new gardener and pool boy every week. I digress.

Where was I? Oh, yea. My dad made us late for church so we had to sit in the back. I hate sitting in the back. Church is shitty enough, but when you can't see a goddamn thing in the back and are sitting with the "rejects" it’s even worse. The “rejects”, you know, the people who get there late or haven't been to church in a while. ‘Seasonal Catholics’. Bleh. They usually occupy the last few aisles and the left middle section of the aisles with their jeans on and cell phone buzzing. Don't confuse them with child-bearing Mother Catholics. They already have stress from their 10 month year old and will kick your fucking ass if you show any sign of irritation from their baby. At least I think they would. I've always wanted to see a Seasonal Catholic versus Mother Catholic fight. It would be dope. Street rules only.

Fuck me. Not again. A boner. For some old reason, I get a choner—church boner—every fucking time after the second reading of Bible before the Hallelujah. I don't know why. It happens every fucking time. I can't even hide that shit because I'm wearing my gray church pants today. These are the only times in my life that I wish I—errr—it, was smaller. What guy would actually wish their schlong was smaller? What girl would like it small? Only if she's fucking tight. Mmm.

Ahh. Hot Seasonal about 10 o'clock. Nice ass. Shit. Come to papa. Is she... That cunt. She's laughing at me. Fuck my boner. Fuck it. The old church fumes seems to turn me on. Oh well.

Yes. Time for my break. I always go to the bathroom during or after the Homily. Sometimes to rub one out or to not listen to the bullshit priest that is talking right now. He is too monotone for my taste. Where's Father Jimmy? He is the shit. Dopest priest ever. Told me about all the shit he smoked in Vietnam. Sweet! I'm outtie. Bathroom break.

"Hey! Wait up!" Who the fuck would want to talk right now? I need to go the bathroom. Oh shit! It's hot Seasonal girl. Calm down, chroner. Fuck... and her friend. Shit. Probably could only get a number today.

"Oh hey, sweet ass," I said.

"Hi," she said giggling to her dumbass friend. Why can't she leave?

"Boring mass, right?" she said. Well, of course you dumb slut. I would so still do her.

"Yea. I need to go to the bathroom. Talk to you after mass or something?"

"Well, okay... I'm Rachel and you are?" Stop fucking giggling.

"Cole," I said while I walked down the stairs towards the bathroom.

"Hold up, Cole. Brit, I'm going to talk to him for a bit. Talk to you later?"

Brit nodded and walked back into mass. Seasonals might be useful after all. They've got to learn how to pray some how.



Much more to come.
Part of a short story I am writing.
Tell me what you think if you want.
Criticism is always welcome.

baiseur de mère, je suis malade

"Hello Kids! Today we are going to learn about the rapper, Lil' Wayne. The greatest rapper in the world. Oh wait. Kids, do you know what rap is? Oh little Johnny. Put your hand down. You don't know what rap is. You live in Connecticut. Anyway, rap is like poetry that put to a beat or rhythm. Don't confuse it with beat poetry, Little Sally, or the yuppie hipsters will be mad because they listen to beat poetry when they actually venture out of Manhattan and the little piece of land called Williamsburg, slowly drinking their local coffee shop vanilla lattes. Remember, Starbucks is so 2005. You can all be Lil' Wayne! All you little boys have to do is have a big ego, do some drugs, and compensate for your small dick with lots of jewelery. Oh and lollipops. Lots of that. Girls, just suck on lollipops. Practice makes perfect. That's what my grandmother used to say. And remember to always pop like a 50 year old type of grain, be tougher than African hair, make weird pop culture references and just acquire a venereal disease, like my old friend Mary, who we called Gonny from around my old neighbor. We told her to stop going to Harlem at night. You could get shot there, kids. Remember, always be a young moola baby and remember, Mother Fuckers, I'm ill. Not like sickly, but ill. Mr. Carter is legit."

bonne nuit et bonne chance

See Good Night and Good Luck. I saw it the year it came out and really didn't absorb it, but I just finished watching it again and it is such a powerful movie filled with courage and heart and shows how not to blame others, but ourselves for the injustices in our lives because we let things shimmer without dealing with them head on AND the movie demonstrates to us all the strength that comes with finding the truth instead of developing "...a built-in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information" and figure out that we should "...get up off our fat surpluses and recognize that television in the main is being used to distract, delude, amuse, and insulate us, then television and those who finance it, those who look at it, and those who work at it, may see a totally different picture too late."

mes meilleurs amis

I hate quotes on blog because I believe it should be your own writing, but I need to say this. I think this describe everything about my life right now and I would like to share this with you all. I promise I won't do a stupid quote again, but this has to be shared:






"Let us take things as we find them: let us not attempt to distort them into what they are not. We cannot make facts. All our wishing cannot change them. We must use them." (John Newman)

cigarette

Everyday after school was the same. The routine never changed. I would wait patiently for the 8th period bell to ring, then staggered slowly to my rusty, old locker on the second floor to get my journal and my copy of poems I collected the night before. Then I would walk off the school property and sit down on the sidewalk right outside of school and read the first line of the first poem on top of the pile. It was Whitman today. "Among the men and women the multitude..." I would stop after the first line and wait for someone to pass. I would wait each day for that person.

She is the definition of cute. Today her hair was curly or wavy, whatever you want to call it. Her brown hair waved in the wind as she tried to fix the summer scarf around her neck. God, her legs are great. She was wearing white shorts and blue boat shoes today. I mean, really. Could you not describe a more perfect girl for me as she fixed her red blouse and tried to find something in her bag. Everyday I would see a different version of her pass me as she walked home from school. Same shit. I would read the first line. Look up. Be a creeper. Finish the poem. Walk home. My after school life in full right there.

I don't... Fuck. Is she coming over here? Did I do something wrong? I don't know. Do I look -


"Do you have a cig I can bum off you?," she said as I tried to take the situation in.

"Yes, I do."

I passed her one of the last of my cigarettes and looked for my lighter.

"I don't smoke really. Just a really bad day and I need to calm down..." she said as I watched her sit next to me and take a short puff from her fag.

"I don't have an excuse, really," I said. I had nothing else to say.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. What are you doing out here anyway?" she said.

"Just reading some poems. That's what lame angsty teenagers do, right?" I said.

She laughed and I couldn't help but smile. I am awkward, by the way. I need to stop reading into things. I made a funny. She isn't going to fall instantly in love with you, Pres.

"What are you reading, angsty teenager?" she said.

"Whitman. He was probably angsty, too. He was from Long Island. Shit, especially because he was from Huntington," I said

"I have family in Huntington. They are so nice. How could you?"

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"I'm joking. They are douche bags," she said as she guffawed.

"You fooled me," I said.

"Got over it and finish your angsty poetry, kid," she said.

I finished my cigarette and put it out and started a new one. She stared aimlessly at the sky as I tried to take in this wonderful moment. I read the second line of the poem and I absorbed not an ounce of angst.

"Do you walk home?," she said as she tapped the ash off the end of her almost finished cigarette.

"I do, actually," I said. "I live three blocks from the school. With a house with a cherry door on Washington Avenue. The irony kills."

"No way! You don't live on Washington. There is no way you live a block away from me and we haven't formally met before. Hi, I'm Haley. Nice to meet you."

I shook her hand and it took me a second to actually think of a response for some reason. "Oh. Hi, I'm Preston, but people call me Pres," I said.

"I like your name. Do you read poetry often," she said.

"Not really. I've just got into it recently. I usually read novels and plays. I just finished reading A Separate Piece for like the fifth time yesterday."

"I loved the book. Everyone in my class hated that book. It was pleasant and he wasn't gay. If I hear that again! I don't know what I would do," she said.

She looked so cute when she was flustered. She checks looked as if they painted gently with rose as the base.

"My sentiments exactly," I said as we both finished our cigarettes and put them out.

"Well, Pres. I've got to call my boyfriend then go to work, so I need to start walking now. Wanna come along?," she said.

"Sure," I said. Of course someone this great has a boyfriend. How stupid of me to believe I had a chance. This always happens. Her boyfriend better be amazing. Shit.

"Tell me more about Whitman. We can be angsty teenagers together next time and maybe read him together if I start liking him," she said.

We walked. I talked. She listened.

rien

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Every time I try that, I get nothing.

panda

Music comes in all shapes and sizes. Some come with years of acquired rust and patience that sing chords that flow through the ages. Others come from a talented young 17 year old from Arizona whose music crackles and pops, something some veterans are still trying to achieve.

Panda Steps In Chocolate, 17 year old Christian Michael Filardo's music project, explores a genre that thrives on whimsical orchestration, short and precise lyrics and an abundant amount of heart that shines bravely through each note of this album. You are convinced that you've heard this electronic dribble before, but you haven't heard something quite like this. The airy chords and notes empower Christian's chameleon like voice which echoes inspiration from the Unicorns and The Magnetic Fields. This kid can sing; you don't get that everyday.

"You can't spell slaughter without laughter." Those words, in the song CHK CHKA SCARED PRIEST, usher in the beginning of the album and give you an inkling on where this album is going. Each song on the album explores a different sub group of electronic greatness from more melodic lines to repetition of words to dance-filled beats to displays of designed harmonies. The album reaches its zenith, Panda Meets a Girl, with the perfect display of the album's ability to show a large of quantity of musical style in about 3 minutes.

Even though the consistency of the album might not appeal some of you, you will be missing out on something if you don't give this album a good listen. You will find yourself falling in love with the album's ability to stick in your head and bring you into a wonderful fantasy of electronic greatness. Watch out for Mr. Filardo. He's got something to show this world and you've got to be ready.




DOWNLOAD AND CHECK OUT ALBUM: HERE!
MYSPACE: HERE!

I am starting to actually write letters to people. Want to be a pen pal? I think it would be super cool if that happened. Comment this blog if you are interested or talk to me on aim (xylophonekiddd)!

pilotez un cerf-volant sur votre plage

I want to know the age in which
I stopped liking Toy R US anymore.

I want to know the age in which
I started to think my parents could get annoying.

I want to know the age in which
I started to love reading again.

I want to know the age in which
I stopped listening to certain music.

I want to know the age in which
I stopped trying to catch the first firefly of the summer.

I want to know the age in which
I started thinking that High School was a waste.

I want to know the age in which
I started to defy the things I thought were truths.

I want to know the period in time
before sex could mean nothing.

I want to remember the times in my old house.

I want to know the age in which
I stopped being afraid of the dark.

I want to know the age when
I started to flirt.

I want to remember the time in which
I fell in love with a book for the first time.

I want to remember the time
I started to ride my bike.

I want to find a time when people are
completely honest which each other.

All things that were in my head last night as I went for a walk. At 2 AM. Why can I never sleep? I think too much. I went for a walk. It's not like I am sad or anything. I just can't stop thinking. That's who I am as a person. I wanted to ride a bike. I need to buy one very soon. I need that feeling back. Riding a bike is such a great feeling. So after my walk, I took a very long shower and then just lay wake in my bed for a few minutes thinking about all the statements above.

I drifted off to sleep and had a wonderful dream. I was on a beach and I saw a kite down the beach a little and went for it. I said, what the heck, let's fly it. So I ran until I got the kite in the sky. I stayed there for a while, taking in the calmness of the waves and the gently breeze on my face. I was at peace. I decided to stop and when I has finished, I turned around and all my best friends were there. It was weird. It instantly became night and we chilled around a bonfire, talked and laughed until we had to go home. I woke up right after we said goodbye and I walked down the beach away from them. Great dream.