FML, a poem

It's sad when I only write in my blog when I'm stuck at the library with nothing better to do. Here's an attempted poem to amuse and bemuse one and all:

At the library
with nothing to do
but type

Words on a screen
scream my ennui
in silence

On a computer that
needs my card number
to log in

Three attempts before
it worked
As if somewhere the truth lurked

elusive in binary code
the one-oh-one-oh-one of a poem
a cursor that begs to move

forward slashing virgin screen
with lettering
pregnant with meaning

scheming rhymes and iambic pentameter
forgive me
I know not what they do

Writing is a faith
a religion
bound by doctrines

Of stylistic hand books
Funk & Wagnells jerk offs
MLA can kiss my ass
APA stick to your couch

Holy books
Hole-y books
Whole books
of words

That mean nothing
Existential angst of bookworms
as they chew on that

Typing away in a library
playing with words
bored out of my mind.

My 8th Grade Self in a Dream

So I had a dream last night that I was back in middle school. There was a basketball game going on and my 8th grade class was in attendance. The boys filed in first and the the girls.

I knew I was time travelling in my dream so I looked for myself. In this memory, I knew my 8th grade self was going to arrive late and that there would be no place to sit with the other girls. My 8th grade self would have to sit alone. I was waiting to see her. In my hand was an antique book with some symbols, or formulas, or some secret information. There was someone with me but I don't remember who; could be the archetype of  some "best friend".

So, my eighth grade self came in with a brown grocery bag rolled up on the top. She walked to the top of bleachers. Like, all the other students, she was wearing a uniform; a navy blue jumper with a white shirt. She looked of average size and weight and had long hair. A pretty girl but "different" from the her permed and made up peers. As my present self, this really struck me because I remember having a poor self image in 8th grade. I thought I was fat and ugly and not cute.

Suddenly my 8th grade self saw me. She was very happy to see me. She was not scared and not surprised. She ran up to me and gave me a hug. My present self was reminded how "open" I had been in the 8th grade. She said, "You! I am glad to see you." I noticed that she had a slight fuzz on her upper lip and remembered how my eight grade self had not yet learned about bleach or waxing. She was sweet and unadulterated. I had something important to tell her. So I looked at her and said, "It can only get better." If she needed to remember anything in her life, she needed to remember that.

 At that moment, I felt I had changed history: my own life trajectory would be altered. My present self was a little worried because they tell you that you shouldn't alter these things when you travel through time. It will change the course of history and fuck up the future.. But, what if this had happened already and I was just making my present life happen anyway? As an 8th grader, I don't remember seeing myself. I'm pretty sure I would have remembered that....unless, it HAD been in a dream. Dun dun DUN!



Weird dream. Weird enough to blog about.