It Was Just An Idea

Here I Am Rock You Like A Hurricane.

And What We Were Trying To Offer Every Day Was One-on-one Attention. The Goal Was To Have A One-to-one Ratio With Every One Of These Students.

Up There We See Everything, Oakland To The Left, El Cerrito And Richmond To The Right, Marin Forward, Over The Bay, Berkeley Below, All Red Rooftops And Trees Of Cauliflower And Columbine, Shaped Like Rockets And Explosions, All Those People Below Us, With Humbler Views; We See The Bay Bridge, Clunkety, The Richmond Bridge, Straight, Low, The Golden Gate, Red Toothpicks And String, The Blue Between, The Blue Above, The Gleaming White Land Of The Lost/superman's North Pole Getaway Magic Crystals That Are San Francisco.

But The Grind Has Begun. The Windows Don’t Open, And Even The Availability Of Near-constant Jokes About Jews And Mormons Fails To Stem The Tide Of Frustration, Decay. We’ve Reached The End Of Pure Inspiration, And Are Now Somewhere Else, Something Implying Routine, Or Doing Something Because People Expect Us To Do It, Going Somewhere Each Day Because We Went There The Day Before, Saying Things Because We Have Said Them Before, And This Seems Like The Work Of A Different Sort Of Animal, Contrary To Our Plan, And This Is Very Very Bad.

If Your Hand Doesn't Work For It, Your Heart Doesn't Feel Sorry For It.