So.
Pardon the lack of init. This is me.
Plus
Aside: While sometimes I hate to think back to it because of the baggage it had, as far as experiences I wouldn't consider monotonous or bland goes, this is the best.
I like to think back to this moment as if spirits woke me for an important moment, because I woke on an hour off my REM and the morning was indeed red. And it ended white... with toxcicity. I heard everything.
Robin had started the fire yet again. Some cheese was missing in the fridge. Joey came out of his room and quickly said, "Is this about Alex's pizza, 'cause that wasn't me." The games began. She took offense, he didn't mean it like that, she doesn't care, dad's woke up from the commotion, Robin manipulates and fires him up to aid in her assault, and in the end Joey stormed off. He said, "I'm done." And we didn't see him again, until he was in the paper.
I just let it all happen, didn't get involved. I won't ask for trouble like that. So I edged into the kitchen to make sure no one was there, went out the back door, hopped on my mountain bike, and like Tom Petty, I'm gone. Out there in the wind, free as ever, like a bird flying out of it's cage on hiatus from its prison... I was myself for once. All alone, breathing in the earth and the world around me. That trail was mine. It was my place, for me to get away. From smelling the pollen to smelling the rain, to watching the clouds dance over Cheyenne... You could see the façade! And I wasn't tied to its illusion. I was breaking out of prison just to go in the courtyard, see. You really are trapped in a settle like that.
I remember taking off, like I always do – if I had my phone I'd play music on it 'til it died, if I didn't, oh well. Down the street, couple left turns, then a right, and whoosh! Down the dirt slope and into freedom. The drop in altitude really sealed it for me. I was gone. I could go as fast as I wanted, stay as long as the day is hot... and I'd see everywhere in that place there was to see. Don't you ever just wanna fly in the face of those which hurt you without suffering for it? That's it. Check on the board.
Minus
Sitting in the classroom listening to the teacher talk... I let my head roll back in a loopy boredom. "I don't know how you guys take this seriously! This lady is a nut, and aren't schools supposed to be secular? She's hosting Bible discussions in the classroom every Wednesday!" My friend shows me his calculator. "Hey man, look what I did with my calculator. Pretty cool, huh? It took me eight weeks to get this thing running." Looking at the calculator, I saw... Oh great. BASIC, this fucking language. Well what else are you gonna write in on this thing, C? Try backslashing on a TI-84, scrub! ... You know what? I've about had it with this. This is so absurd, I don't even... I raised my hand. "Hey Mrs. Gargoyle, I'm feeling really sick. Could I go see the nurse?" I said convincingly, squinting a little. I'm out.
Wandering the halls, empty as ever, I found a bit of solace for a moment. I almost felt real for a split. So... this is what it's like. It was so different from my old school, the military-backed one... the kids were so much more conforming, the faculty so much more power-hungry, everyone so much more irrational... It nearly drove me mad. It was the epitome of a stupidified humanity. How could this happen?
Before my thoughts wandered too far, I found my nose grossly violated with the stench of what I thought was cat food. But this is school, there's no cats here... wait... oh Gods! It was the pizza. Shipped in from a truck, smelling like fish and poisonous cheese... Little Caesar's no doubt. Safe to say I never touched a slice again. I was about to barf not just at the mere thought of it but the stench! This is bonemeal! I quickly exited the chow hall and into the service office, awaiting someone who would listen to my grievances. They were in for a ride. Heh.
I solemnly swear and certify upon King Solomon's grave that this Psong of a song of a superfluously sappy piece of signed lit is my own and is truthful to the best of my knowing knowledge. My assertion of the truthfulness of this knowledge is true, but whether it is knowledgeable itself is left to debate, and I say that truthfully. While I make mention of the works of Nicholas the Senior, I mean no implication of affiliation with him and do not intend endorsement of that or my own endorsement of that thereof. I like money, though.
Alexander Nicholi
