Sentence Assignment

This is the last sentence of the Sentence Assignment set of writings. I know this because my friend has informed me that his schooling will be done next week. So this is the last bit of this sort of gibberish you’ll be running into for a good while. Yes, smile, Invisible Reader. We are at the close, as they say. And by they, I mean nobody. Or them.

So here it is. Four minutes to write about: “Be true to your teeth or they’ll be false to you.”

Braces. I remember the fucking braces. My mother wanted me to have them. Made some kind of deal with my dad to split the cost. I’m sure he had his doubts about what she would actually do with the money. I know I learned that lesson.

I guess I should be thankful for the braces. I’ve kissed a lot of girls with these awesome teeth. I have to admit, that aside from a lil curve at the end of it, I don’t get a million compliments on my penis. But my teeth? All the time. Chicks with, “You shouldn’t hide your smile.” They have no idea that I used to be Dracula at Halloween with no need to purchase fangs. At one point in middle school, I had my two milk teeth above my regular canines.

I remember when the dentist took out a bunch of perfectly good teeth. The Life Saver taste of the sprayed on anesthetic. The giant needle with the two hoops at the end of it for deft fingers. I remember the crick-crick-crick-crick while the dentist pried out teeth, back and forth, back and forth, with PLIERS, because my mouth was apparently too small for all my teeth. ME! A small mouth! Somewhere at my old place, there is a small plastic cylinder with the teeth in it. If you open it, you will probably smell something similar to an Egyptian mummy’s cheese collection.

I also had oral surgery for removal of my wisdom teeth. Cavemen teeth with no real use in the present. And I had FIVE of them (four is normal!). I’m a lil extra caveman classic when I roll with my sarcastic.

I remember the pain from the braces. I could feel my gums sweating saliva. I could feel my heart beating in that pink rumply tissue that held my chompers in place.

At one point, I swore to my mother and father that I’d put them in a home one day for the pain they had brought upon me.

My mom and I would go to Checker’s after my dental appointments, usually. I couldn’t eat anything but fries and a shake. And none of it ever hid the taste of newly tightened metal. The ghost of aluminum. I remember thinking what a terrible price I had to pay to get out of school early.

I hid the braces well all through middle school. Only a couple of people knew I had them. I think it was half learning to look hard and half knowing to hide things from the vultures known as children.

You dumb bastards didn’t know a thing about raising a boy. But thanks for the awesome teeth. Couldn’t have gotten laid without them.

Sentence Assignments

Late on my sentences as usual. You know the drill. One sentence. Four minutes. Always late. But often finished… This post’s sentence is: “I was trying so hard to be myself I was turning into somebody else.”

This will be the first straight up literal translation of this I’ll do. This sentence makes me think about me. About selfishness. About how when I want something, whether it’s shiny or I ascribe god knows whatever else to justify my desiring it, I become blind to logic and practicality and to other people’s needs and hearts and their right to breathe without having to endure my presence or blind path walking.

I mean, being selfish is an idealistic thing, you know? And I guess what I mean by that is that when I was young, I didn’t care about what people thought (and I still don’t, to a particular degree). Truth at all costs, and all that shit. Freedom of speech and fuck you.

And now that I have a kid, I’m better about that stuff. I understand people who don’t want others to cuss around their kids. Or to smoke. Or to have too much violence on tv.

I now understand about “almost” with kids. As in, that person almost let my kid bust his ass.

I get these big sucking ins of my breath sometimes when these almosts occur.

Last night, Jack was crying for someone to come get him. I went over there, with good intentions: to make him learn he has no power. So that we can sleep. Not because I’m an asshole. And he let out this great big crying Pleeeeeeaaaaase! And I couldn’t swat it aside with my logic and book readings. I picked him up and told him to stop crying. That it would be okay.

And he said, “Okaaaaaay,” and he put his little head on my shoulder.

Sometimes, I try so hard to be hard, that I forget I’ve become a dad.

Sentence Assignments

Late on my sentences as usual. You know the drill. One sentence. Four minutes. Always late. But often finished… This post’s sentence is: “I was trying so hard to be myself I was turning into somebody else.”

This will be the first straight up literal translation of this I’ll do. This sentence makes me think about me. About selfishness. About how when I want something, whether it’s shiny or I ascribe god knows whatever else to justify my desiring it, I become blind to logic and practicality and to other people’s needs and hearts and their right to breathe without having to endure my presence or blind path walking.

I mean, being selfish is an idealistic thing, you know? And I guess what I mean by that is that when I was young, I didn’t care about what people thought (and I still don’t, to a particular degree). Truth at all costs, and all that shit. Freedom of speech and fuck you.

And now that I have a kid, I’m better about that stuff. I understand people who don’t want others to cuss around their kids. Or to smoke. Or to have too much violence on tv.

I now understand about “almost” with kids. As in, that person almost let my kid bust his ass.

I get these big sucking ins of my breath sometimes when these almosts occur.

Last night, Jack was crying for someone to come get him. I went over there, with good intentions: to make him learn he has no power. So that we can sleep. Not because I’m an asshole. And he let out this great big crying Pleeeeeeaaaaase! And I couldn’t swat it aside with my logic and book readings. I picked him up and told him to stop crying. That it would be okay.

And he said, “Okaaaaaay,” and he put his little head on my shoulder.

Sometimes, I try so hard to be hard, that I forget I’ve become a dad.

Sentence Assignment

I may have gone over four minutes on that last one. I had to quiet my phone timer because it woke the woman from some strange sleep. I think she mumbled, “I’ll cut it off and people will thank me.” So I’m scared now. And thankful that there’s only one sentence to go. I have to write about it for four minutes. And it’s the shittiest sentence I’ve had.

Group relaxation will be cancelled for the duration of the academic year

If they said this to me at work, it would mean that we’re all getting fired. I work at a school, so I would assume this means no one is getting to relax because we’re all going to be looking for jobs and canceling our cable, lawn fertilizer guy, cell phones, motorcycle insurance, trips to Toys R Us to glance lovingly at light sabers, and some other stuff. I have a spreadsheet I need to check. But I can’t do that right now because I have two minutes left on this word roller coaster of DOOOM.

But for my friend Chris who gives me these sentences, well… that guy never relaxes. Chris, this one is for you. Relax. Fuck the cancelation of group relaxation. You relax better alone anyway. One cannot cancel relaxation anymore than one can cancel erections. Sure, time may take erections FROM us, but it will never cancel them.

It will steal them. But relaxation? A motherfucker in a hole can find a way to relax somehow. Mentally. Maybe he would curl into a strange sort of apostrophobic position. Looking like a lima bean.

I got ten seconds, man, but I did it. I finished these fucking sentences.

Sentence Assignment

I really screwed the pooch on these sentences. Man, I hate when old Cuban guys tell me about how awesome it was to bang sheep when they were young, and here I am talking about fucking dogs. But, I really thought I would make the midnight express. But here I am on my third sentence with two minutes left… Oh, well… there will be words, regardless. Or irregardless, if you like to make up words. I have to write about the following sentence for four minutes and I feel that I am running out of interesting and original things to say.

There’s a little bit of truth in every lie.

I gotta agree with that one. I’m a good liar. An excellent liar, I’d say. And I always try to keep my lies simple and partially true. If you do something you’re not supposed to be doing and you have a good time, keep the fun in the lie. Maybe you went and bought a dirty magazine instead of going to study at the library?

Did you have a good time at the library?

Hell yes, I did. Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys, oh hell yes, they were solving crimes and getting chloroformed out of their minds and everyone was hooting and hollering and reading from the same book! Fucking awesome!

Speaking of dirty magazines (segue win!), I remember a time before the fish market that sprung across the street from my house, the way shitty relatives spring from dark and cobwebbed corners for people who have won the lottery… oh my god, fuck you, sentence from hell. I remember a time, here we go, when there was a Farm Stores across the street from me.

Shit.

It turned into something else, but I don’t remember what, but FOR A TIME, the Indian dude that ran it had dirty magazines on a little rack next to the fridge that had all the milk in it. I know, how apropos. I would cross the street and buy Snickers bars just to get a peek at the titties through the cellophane wrappers. And now we have the internet, you know?

We have a lil convenience store around here and there’s an Indian dude with his own rack and dirty magazines, and I’m like, seriously? For what? Does this guy have any idea what I just downloaded AND streamed like an hour ago?

I mean, I had four media player windows open to take care of this problem.

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Sentence Assignment

A sentence a week. Now I’m only 3 weeks behind. And it doesn’t look like I’ll beat the midnight click of the clock. But that’s ok. Sometimes, it’s ok to write past midnight. I BELIEVE that thoughts can get away at night. I believe in the magic of the dark. Here’s the next sentence. And I have to write about it for four minutes.

“Who has more fun than people?”

Not horses. I mean, HBO’s Luck got canceled because some horses died, because apparently they are very sensitive. I JUST recently was explained what that whole leading a horse to water business MEANS. So, not any animals. Maybe dinosaurs did, though. But I doubt it. We’re all animals anyway, right? Besides, the question is asking WHO. Not what. But ain’t no who that ain’t people, right? I mean, is Nintendo a Who?

Perhaps we should ask Horton. He may have heard.

It is obvious now that I blew my entire awesomeness wad on my first sentence response. This is pure shit. Maybe toilets have more fun than people. I mean, if people could open the top of me and pull on a thing and I had a monsoon going on in my mind, that’d be kind of neat. But the shitting and the pissing and the vomiting, maybe not so much fun.

You know the planet’s not having fun. Or cars. I thought, maybe hang gliders, but nah. I mean, people wreck those things all the time. And there’s no hang glider hospital, you know?

I once had a friend say about his kids, “…they’re not people! Look at them! They’re animals!” but I think they’re just little people.

I been racking my mind about this shit for no good reason. Who has more fun than people?

Nobody, dude.

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Sentence Assignment

I have to write about the following sentence for four minutes. I get one of these a week. I am four weeks behind at this point. This should take me twenty minutes to do. I should be able to beat Midnight if I am swift enough.

“There wasn’t one to give.”

A fuck. A duck. A dollar. An excuse. A good reason, even. A moment. A picture. One last song. A story. Tell me about a good day recently. Something that made you smile. Maybe you saw something funny in traffic. There’s always interesting people driving cars and doing other shit at the same time. The assholes that have the bluetooth headsets that seem like they’re talking to themselves. The women putting on makeup in the fucking merge lane. I love the people who sing and drum on their steering wheels. What about the people singing sad songs? I like them, too. Heads slightly tilted forward, mouth not quite opening all the way. Some of them seem to be humming.

I used to listen to more music on the way to work. In Oregon, I drove over a valley and some mornings, there was fog down there, made by the river, which was warmer than the cool spring air. There used to be trees. There used to be bus rides. There used to be a whole country to give my speed to.

Now I feel I don’t have a minute to give, to lose, to make things, to sing a song in the car.

Sentence of the Week

Every week, I get a sentence from my friend and I have to write about it for four minutes. When he gave it to me this week, I thought it was going to be fun to work on later on. I mean, a horse! And he’s ALONE! Who was riding him? Maybe there was a satchel on him with so many clues. Or a messenger bag. Maybe the horse had a gatling gun on its back. Anyway, here’s the sentence: The horse came back alone.

I think what that phrase means to me this week is that the people I play videogames with forgot for a second that we’re just playing a videogame. There was this guy, this really funny and cool as shit guy in our community who could do a hell of a Christopher Walken impression. Among other things. And this guy’s nephew got on his computer and installed some hacks and got his uncle’s account banned from the videogame on some other people’s server. And we told him he couldn’t wear our colors anymore. Couldn’t fly our flag. Couldn’t wear our tag. This guy, who all he has done is make people laugh.

This guy who was never that good of a player. Who came in from time to time because he cared about people. Cause he wanted to see where everyone was.

What the fuck? He never hacked us. His only mistake was to trust his nephew. I hope everyone who voted against him has their nephews install hacks on their computers. I hope they all get banned. I hope they all have to sit there with their dicks in their hands wondering how their supposed friends could do them dirt like this.

I feel like the fucking horse who came back alone. Me and two other guys anyway.

Yeah, this week’s assignment sucked.

But I wasn’t in the mood for it.

And I had to do it.

Fuck you, page.

Weekly writing assignment

This week’s writing thing: “It’s not my fawlt I wuz home skoold” So I have to write about this for four minutes:

This is a stupid sentence. You figure someone home schooled is going to have a parent that gives a shit and maybe has some kind of pull to get that sort of thing approved. If home schooling for stupid people was acceptable then you wouldn’t have all the kids of the parents who don’t care in schools fucking it up for all the people who actually want to get good grades because they’re competitive or their parents have taught them to care or maybe they think they have to so they can get into college.

I don’t know why I did well in school. I’m lucky. I’m glad I wasn’t home schooled. That is some shit. I was bad in kindergarten. I remember one time, I was pushing this tall skinny black kid named Donnie around the classroom in his chair. This chair had no wheels. Little metal feet on carpet. He had a little basket of tiny tiles we were using to make these sort of flat things to put hot tea or a pot on for our parents. Donnie was using these little tiles as ammunition to chuck at the other kids. At some point after that, we had to stand up on chairs holding big dictionaries over our heads. Man, my arms hurt right now from trying to dig this stupid hole for a dry well but I bet they hurt worse back then.

And for some reason, in the second grade, they decided I needed to be switched from the retard class to the honors class. My dad never helped me with homework. I didn’t have any tutors.

I don’t know how I didn’t end up shot or a bum on the dirty narrow crunchy streets of Allapattah.

Time’s up.

Writing Assignment

My friend gets a writing assignment once a week at school for the next four months. His teacher gives him a sentence and he has to write for the next four minutes with that sentence in his head. I’ve decided I will go along so as to keep my mind from atrophying as quickly as it is right now.

This week’s sentence is: “Half the lies I tell you are not true.”

I am not even sure what this means when I first read it and technically I’ve been thinking about it for a couple days. Mostly I am not sure I’ve remembered it correctly, but looking at it up there now, yeah, I guess it was the weird thing I thought I’d read. So it sounds like it means someone is telling someone else some truths that are lies, right? I’m telling you a lie, but presenting it as truth, so that’s why it’s not true. I don’t know what else to make of it. Someone was just trying to sound cool. I’m trying to type this on a keyboard I got for my ipad, while lying in bed, on my stomach. My shoulders are up near my ears. What do shoulders sound like?

Nothing.

I wonder if it means that someone is telling lies, but even the lies being told are not true either? Kinda like, if I TELL you I’m lying, maybe I’m telling the truth? Like you have sex for the first time and you’ve been lying to the girl beforehand, telling her you’re very experienced. But everything you know you learned from videos and you make sure the both of you are nice and drunk and buzzed and happy so that when it’s all sloppy and like fish fins slapping at each other, it’s not because one of you has never done it before. It’s because of the booze, but this girl is taking your virginity and she does not know it.

Time’s up.