Paris (b. 2009)

 

 

 

I keep thinking Paris is dead.

The tubes are connected, the machines are beeping, the families are outside waiting. This year was the most dangerous yet. 

There were more residents than ever before. They legalized smoking in all the cafes. Homelessness was a growing problem. And it rained more than it has in over six years.

There were three CW1 classes for the first time ever during first semester. It was too much. There were too many blogs. 100 blogs. 100 voices. 100 hearts. So many fell to the ground without being caught. Without being heard.

Second semester brought two more CW1 classes and we tried CW2. The Parisian streets were on fire. They called in the National Guard, the SWAT team, the riot police. Paris was burning.

There were more hearts touched. More minds opened. More lives changed. But there were also more crackheads between the buildings. 

Today is Memorial Day. Which means tourist season is over. The passports are expiring and the airports are open.

I just want to say goodbye.

I hope you felt inspired. I hope you felt enlightened. I hope you enjoyed the sights. 

Paris was always only a dream. I've never even been there. We may as well call it Paris, Idaho or Parris. We're all stuck here in Utah County and that's the way it's always been. That plane we tried to fly was made out of paper and I don't even have my pilot's license. Thanks for going along with it as long as you did, though.

I'll miss you. I'll be at my desk if you need me. Maybe one day you'll come back with a wedding invitation. Or a book I let you borrow. Or just to visit.

I'll be in room 221.

I'll keep trying to write. I'll keep trying to inspire young people. I'll keep overreacting. I'll keep being bi-polar, ADHD, schizophrenic. I'll keep making videos. I'll keep trying to rap. I'll keep going bald.

Now's the part where you figure out what you're going to do.

Good luck.

You'll know where to find me.
 

Backseat Freestyle (Project #3)

Here we go one time brotha prime time can you find time while you listenin to my rhyme

It’s a fine line between love and hate and we walked it all day like a marathoner’s timeline

I dialed nine time but I couldn’t find a writer on the other line who wasn’t stuck along the sideline

Like a blind mime feelin for the right line drinkin all the time to find he never had a fine wine

UH – that’s much too fast for me

All I wanted was for you to go to class for me

This ain’t the end of the world , this ain’t no catastrophe

But if I tell you how I feel it’s like it’s blasphemy

LOVE MAIL, HATE MAIL

Who knew a bloggggg post could put you in jail?

We built this ship together and then we sailed

The question now is did everybody fail?

I shoulda taken roll more

Listened to cole more

Dribbled behind my back and took the rock up to the rack more

Click clack more

Kanye and shaq more

What you think I rap for, to push a __________ rav-4?

What you so mad for? Oh, not again

He’s gonna storm into class and throw an ottoman

And swear a lot again, that nelson’s drinkin lots of gin

What is he thinking, somebody get him some oxygen

BREATHE IN, BREATHE OUT

Don’t make me shout, I think I’m gonna freak out

Used to believe in myself and you make me doubt

Cuz when I try to ------

That’s what I’m talking about

And you’ve done it twice

So I freak out as if you’ve given me lice

Or I’ve seen mice or you take ice

And put it down my shirt

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s not nice

I know I’m not nice, I’m mean

I have bi-polar disorder or so it seems

Make a mess and then I’m mr. clean

I’m green, this is all new it’s like a dream

We built this plane together ya’ll, we’re on the same team

We had the same dream

It’s not a lame dream

A bunch of young writers came together like the A team

It was amazing

The trails we’re blazing

We wrote an effing book that they can even buy in Beijing

That’s right in Beijing, that’s China

Or even Carolina

We’re more successful now than Harold Miner

And if you’re tryna find a nicer class you’ll never find it

I have a mind to quit my 9-to-5 and be a writer

Love / Hate Mail

Son of Baconator

This is about student apathy.
This is about how I shouldn't talk about student apathy.
It doesn't help. 

The Analogy
My class is like Wendy's. 

• Wendy's: Room 221
• Wendy's Manager: Kyle Nelson
• Wendy's Customer: Student
• Son of Baconator: My lessons

Background
If you've ever had me as a teacher, you know that I often get discouraged. As my wife says, I'm not very good at hiding my feelings. If I'm excited, you'll know it. If I'm annoyed, you'll know it. I'm notorious for voicing my displeasure/inadequacy/doubts with my students. Sometimes that displeasure is with their commitment to my class. They're being tourists. Or sophomores. Or worse. Maybe it's free therapy. Maybe I'm trying to make them feel guilty. I don't know.

This is me realizing that this approach doesn't work.

Explanation
I love Wendy's. I love the Son of Baconator. Almost every one I order is perfect. Because of this, Wendy's is my go-to place. If there's a McDonald's and a Wendy's, I go to Wendy's. If there's a Burger King and a Wendy's, I got to Wendy's. You get the point.

But what if one day I stopped going? I don't know why. Maybe I'm trying to eat healthy. Maybe I'm trying to save money. Whatever. And the next time I pull through the drive-thru, Pete (the manager) comes to the window.

Pete: Hello Kyle.

Kyle: Hey.

Pete: Where you been?

Kyle: Oh. Uh. I don't know.

Pete: We haven't seen you here in a while.

Kyle: Yeah, I've been [enter reason here].

Pete: Well, that makes me feel [enter negative emotion here].

Kyle: Oh. I'm sorry. [mumbles something to himself]

Pete: I spent a lot of time making this Son of Baconator. I don't appreciate when I make something and you don't even eat the whole thing. 

Kyle: Can I just get the burger, please?

[Kyle drives away with weird feeling he didn't ask for with his burger]

Conclusion
If Wendy's bothered me about not eating there enough or made me feel guilty, I would stop going. I go there for the burgers. Not the guilt.

It's up to me whether I'm going to eat there, not them. All they can do is make good burgers.

Dear Flat Stanley

This is a blog analysis for Flat Stanley. She is the sailboat boy. She is the artist who disturbs the comfortable and comforts the disturbed. She was going to name herself Sexual Fetus, but thankfully changed her mind.

Enjoy.

Quotes
 We might die from medication but we sure killed all the pain.

I have grown weary from this game you call Therapy

I am 5'4" with a 6'0" personality. 

Your palms may be a little sweaty, but my hands are a drought that needed the moisture anyway.


Comments

Final Words

I've teased Micah this past week for being a coward. She posted her Video Slam, but then took it down after I told her I'd give her credit. But Micah isn't a coward. She is a very honest writer. She's not afraid to be real, and that's difficult to ask of anyone, especially a teenager. She's not afraid to be vulnerable, and that's inspiring. 
 

We are more similar than you might think.

Her reveal was one of my favorites. She is different and unique and creative and brave and everything I want in a creative writing student.

I'll end with this.

Last Halloween she walked into my classroom and scared the hell out of me. I still see her strange face sometimes when I close my eyes. She said she loves special effects make-up because it helps her "escape from being Micah Mehlhoff for awhile." Micah, you're fine just the way you are.

Pond Slam 2015 aka The Most Alive

These branches hurt when they scratch me.

I've never felt more alive than I do right now. The ducks, the water, young people everywhere. A ten-speed just rode by and I've never felt more alive than I do right now.

In this moment - every sound I hear, a generator, a car driving by, birds chirping, ducks making whatever sounds ducks make, people talking, people walking, a girl screaming, laughing. Everything's good today.

And even though everything isn't good, right now it feels like it is. Right now the sun's shining and my lungs work and Emma just asked if I took roll and I didn't. I didn't take roll today and I've never felt more alive.

I can feel the wind in my hair and even though I don't have any hair, I can still feel the wind and I've never felt more alive.

A weird leaf acorn thing just fell out of the tree and landed on my notebook and it scared me, but I'm still alive - and I'm scared, but I'm still alive. I'm more alive today than I was yesterday.

I'm more alive than you

Sure, you're only 17 and you have your whole life ahead of you and you still have all of your hair and your back doesn't hurt and your legs aren't gonna be sore tomorrow from walking up those freaking stairs, but still

I'm more alive than you

You, who's still talking about last week's prom and did you have a good time and who did you go with? OMG! - You. The one laughing on the fishing deck and chasing the geese across the shore and you're still laughing, you're still laughing, this whole class is laughing.

But I'm more alive than all of you

The 18 of you who didn't even make it to the pond today. I never actually counted because I'm afraid the number might even be higher.

We're all more alive than you

Because being alive is more than your heart rate or your cholesterol. Doctors can't measure it. It's more than your picture collection or how much fun you're having. I'm more alive than you because I have a pen in my hand. And I'm more aware of this moment than anything else.

I'm paying attention.

I used to have a bumper sticker on my car that said "I'm so broke I can't even pay attention." Well, I'm not that broke anymore. And I haven't driven that car for years.

I've written more today than I wrote yesterday.

And next year you'll be gone.

And I'll still be here, writing.