Selene and I had to go to a high school open house tonight. We met teachers. Boring adult stuff. Stick with me though… because although I may appear to ramble, I will reach a powerful conclusion.
As I sat in the chemistry classroom, I thought to myself about what a badass student I would make if I were to take classes today. My own personal love for learning seems to have arrived about two decades later than my opportunity to be physically present in an educational system for free. And for a brief moment, I lamented what seemed to be the poor decisions inherent to youth.
Oh well, fuck that. That’s why I take learning into my own hands these days. In the past year, I actually read a physics textbook and learned way more than I ever did in high school physics. I learned how light works, man. And why the sunsets turn colors. You know?
I’m just grateful that I have the potential for learning still.
And speaking of potential, they say that frequent cursing is a sign of high intelligence. I’m not sure who “they” are, but “they” definitely say it. It’s funny because my speech is fraught with swear words, but my writing (with the exception of this post) is generally clean. Ever since I spent a summer in Boston in my late high school years, I learned that “fuck” was my favorite word. It’s definitely the most versatile. And it’s just plain fun to say. But I don’t write it out a lot… at least, not in my articles. I guess I try to have more of a relaxed, academic tone.
While we were sitting through the English teacher’s speech later in the evening, I noticed a poem hanging from the wall. She said it was a “blessing of water.” I took a picture of it to read later and I will share it with you.
Blessing
The skin cracks like a pod.
There never is enough water.
Imagine the drip of it,
the small splash, echo
in a tin mug,
the voice of a kindly god.
Sometimes, the sudden rush
of fortune. The municipal pipe bursts,
silver crashes to the ground
and the flow has found
a roar of tongues. From the huts,
a congregation: every man woman
child for streets around
butts in, with pots,
brass, copper, aluminum,
plastic buckets,
frantic hands,
and naked children
screaming in the liquid sun,
their highlights polished to perfections,
flashing light,
as the blessing sings
over their small bones.-Imtiaz Dharker
It reminded me, for some reason, that I have an old affinity for Pablo Neruda and his odes. In fact, I used to quite enjoy copying his style, writing poems to nonsensical things.
And so I will now present to you…
Ode to Fuck
How better to honor my lips?
What sweeter sound
in all of the fucking universe
might gently caress my ears?
My purest joy,
my deepest rage,
and the grunt of a stubbed toe,
are all expressed
by the same four fucking letters.
Said in a whisper, my fascination.
Said in a shout, my excitement.
A mystic code, surely descended from
the ancients themselves.
I will carve your name in the temple walls.
And paint it on subway cars.
Before I knew you, I drew blanks.
Mindlessly searching
for adjectives,
verbs, nouns, and adverbs.
Until I found you.
I will
never
need another.
My lexicon is fucking complete.-Aerik Arkadian
Aerik Arkadian 
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