four years ago (plus about a week) I moved to charlottesville

In 4 years time I live about a block from where I first lived and I'm at the same job that I had when I got here. But a lot has happened in between and I'm a much different person than I was. I guess I moved when I was 24. That's kinda crazy to think about.

I like Charlottesville. I think I'll stay here for more years. I'm making progress.

quick post

You let the children know your weakness? Foolish.

The title of this post is the last comment I received. It's over a month old now. It grows stronger with every passing day. I open the blogger dashboard and see if I have any new comments. At the top of the page, every time, is this comment--staring back at me. It rests upon a pile of over 2,000 comments--king. "You let the children know your weakness? Foolish." Foolish. A fool. Top of the heap. An offhand, morbid remark that has yet to be overtaken and, at this point, may never be felled.

And every day I feel a little less confident and a little less powerful. As if the children are using my weakness against me. As if they are dissolving me from the inside. Victim of my own brash and prideful ways.

please help. please.

let me tell you

I think it's possible to have a totally ordinary dull day if you never once used your imagination. If you don't use your imagination how is anything magical or good going to happen. You gotta turn the faucet in to fill the water bottle.

Well, consider this faucet [on]. Stand back everyone, I'm going to imagine something.

I'm imagining a big crowd of people. They're all standing around on a golf course. There is a big mass of people and they are all looking at a book. A large leatherbound book with old wrinkled pages and menacing gold lettering on the cover in an elegant swirly script. A squirrel runs along and darts through the legs of the people gathered and sprints directly towards the book. The squirrel stands atop the book and stands up on its haunches. The book flings open, catapulting the squirrel high into the air, never to be seen again. The pages flip madly with a life of their own before settling on a page near the back of the book. Light emanates from the book and a sinister glow rises from beneath. The people are stunned. It is a summoning ritual. The thing that is summoned is me. Andy. I am summoned from the book. I crawl out out of the book and say, "hello, everyone." And the people, they are not happy. "Boo!" they yell. "Boo! and Boo forever and ever! We scorn you book man. Go back to our nightmares and never emerge from print in the future again." I am disappointed. I am unable to return to the book because of unidirectional magic and must walk away and then try to get my bearings and regroup. Such is the life in imagination.

a free write

I think the tree in my front yard is dying. I think I might have killed it when I was trying to get all the ivy off of it. I probably didn't kill it by doing that. But then I was thinking about how I would rather attribute my own actions to something bad happening than for the tree to just die for no reason completely unrelated to me. So it's like an example of the feeling of control being more important than outcome.

Which also explains a lot of behavioral issues in children. And also people in general. CONTROL!

 This kid at afterschool started an imagination mural and one of the first things I drew was this horrible fly/hornet insect with big flappy lips and globs of drool hanging out of its mouth. And had it a bag around one of its arms as if it was going around collecting flower juice and who knows what else in it. I liked it. I liked how horrible and ugly it was and the fact that it had a bag to collect instead of whatever elegant design nature would provide. Bags are funny. Just how utilitarian but also clunky they are. Bags. Just more bags. Animals with bags. It's comedy gold, baby.

Coffee Thought

In the past 24 hours I've written about 6,000 words, writing a paragraph each about my 50 art students. What did I learn from this?

I learned that you shouldn't wait until the day before the deadline to try to write a summary of each of your students. It will take longer than you expected. You'd think I'd know this having been through school but I guess being out of school for so long has left me a little rusty.

What else?

Nothing else. I learned nothing else from this process. I have never learned anything in my entire life. All I am is a spontaneous reaction of matter and energy to random stimuli that bursts from nonexistence into the present and the only continuity is merely an illusion brought on by the rapid refresh rate of reality.

yeah. that's the good stuff.

I used to write about pretty things

I'd like to go read something I've written out loud.

I hope for things to be as they are. I hope for the leaves to die and the trees to be bare. I hope for it to be dark and cold. I will sit in my car for upwards of 30 minutes not wanting to move as the heat dissipates. I hope to stay in bed for too long. I will be sad. I will be productive. I will be cold. I will get to spend weeks at home and feel good. I hope for snow days. I hope for inclement weather. I hope for things to strain and fall apart. I hope for quiet. I hope for revelations and different states a mind a feeling of something new entering and happening and a place not yet visited appearing. I hope for winter. If any of these things happen I will be excited for I will have called it and will have been right and that is more important than happiness or comfort. Just kidding.

A dull bell slaps wetly against a leather heap.