Spit Out Luke Warm

Memories aren’t memories any more. These things are passwords to chaos. And one of my students was going through something. I said the right/ wrong thing (open to interpretation) and he wants to fight. “DON’T TOUCH ME!” Then the words; damn he sees me as something else.

…and a crowd of students is there quick like flies. Damn how did they get out of their classrooms? This is too much. I want to console him. God what is happening?

“That’s it I quit! I resign!” The principal came quickly. Took me outside. I’m crying.

“Take the rest of the week off. Come back on Monday, see how you feel.” He tells me.

I went straight to the VA. Crying saying “I DON’T WANT TO GO BACK!”

“You don’t have to go back.”

I was so close to cracking. Yet I chose not to because RL Superbad had invited me to jam with him at The King Biscuit Festival in Arkansas. Then I had the Jackson Synergy Nights; where I go every two weeks to recite my poetry. Had to keep on keeping on. So I continued hitting the free weights like a convict and stayed spiritual by going to ‘the rooms.’

                                                            TO BE CONTINUED

How I got here:

That highway is a tongue leading to the city’s entrance, a mouth of mayhem. The body is the city. And this city has consumed too many. Spit em out as well. Should I leave before I get eaten alive?

Too many days to count when I’ve been out of my mind. Memories of the dead from the terrorist attack, they are long gone; not to me. Now I feel pits in my stomach. Feel on edge like something bad is about to happen but it never does. We drove our Army trucks on I-95, that road was a tongue to the mouth of Fort Meyers. The pentagon was still on fire.

Now I’m in this classroom. Too much damn noise. Kids being kids rebelling against me because…Well I have a few theories why. They’ve have not had to work for years learning. Therefore, when I try to teach them they rebel violently. Protesting me by cussing at me. Throwing things in the room. Staying on their cell phones listening to that music that inspires them to self-destruction because they gotta’ keep it real. Wonder what they’d think if they would have been in that Richmond morgue working with me. See I used to wanna’ be tuff too until I saw those being tuff dead. Even that haunted highway, another tongue leading to the mouth of Clarksdale Mississippi. That mouth of a beast called ‘The Blues.’ 50 percent of the kids I taught years ago are now either in jail or they are 6 feet under ground.

Anyway…back to the reasons why:

The kids have seen things no one should see. Parents, friends, close relatives dying, and so many have looked at me as the enemy because I am white. They have no parental guidance. They don’t learn things like their peers. Neither do I. We both have learning disabilities.

…so I chose to be a teacher.

Up that Haunted Highway where 49 crosses 61 was my refuge from a past I didn’t want to remember. Left from the bottom of Haunted Highway 49 drunk when I went “To Be The Best I Could Be.” Came back scared but sober. I went to college. Student Teaching the kids of those I was in school with. Resulted in me remembering things I tried to drink away. Like being a rejected special education kid. I was gullible, impressionable, and scared-taken advantage of. Regardless, I carried on. Revelations came in abundance especially post Katrina-One day I stopped running from hell but hell kept going.

Felt like I still was getting rejected for teaching jobs at the schools I went to as a child.

Helena Arkansas, I remember you. When I started out on the mic. I went there to take vain less selfies trying to make myself look like a Rocker-that was 2009. Never would have imagined playing at a festival-even if it was on the streets with in the festival.

Did my best-link

Thinking about when the great Mississippi River-saliva of the tongue. I was also going through a “I love you forever BUT don’t ever call me again,” and that water felt like it was curing me. Heard long ago water has supernatural powers-A conduit to those in the after life. Thus came my rhyme Redemption Redemption

Felt justified, felt right that I recite it at Synergy Nights.

Unfortunately, after my performances the anxiety returned. What do I do about work?

Years ago, when I fell in love with comics again and Charles introduced me to Kindle, I wrote a superhero series called “Fearless, Instruction Guide On How To Be A Superhero.” Link

Basically, a white school teacher by day vigilante by night fighting crime in Clarksdale. Grimly, he discovers the ones he’s fighting for are the one’s he is fighting. He learns combat by fighting drug dealers in the hoods of Jackson Mississippi. link

My latest work I started was dubbed “Going Educational.” Charles died when I was in the middle of writing it. It’s mostly a supernatural thang: Clarksdale haunted by ghost buried underneath the high school, and a school shooting is thwarted by …book one link

Yet, now there is a true more valid work of “Going Educational” that is too reflective of my real life imitating art.

What am I to do? Well I will continue working on book II of Going Educational.Going Educational Book 1

.