Meditations of High School- I

The seniors, they walk with their chins so far in the air that they might as well be in their own assholes. Their eyes can only look forward, to whatever inane pursuit they will take up this Saturday-they are going to get SOOOOOO wasted-or maybe they eyeball that girl they've been trying to get with since 6th grade. Their footsteps fall as if the fact that the floor is gonna be there when their Air Force 1's smack it is some kind of a priori truth.


The freshman's necks must have some kind of disorder where they must be eternally bent down to look at the floor. Some would say their eyes dart, but I think it is more like a merry-go-round, always ending back at that one point right where they floor melts into the wall. The herk-jerk of their knees tell me that they think, or know, that if they happen to put their wal-mart plastic shoes in the wrong place or with too much weight then the world will crumble to pieces. Or maybe that big ball from Indy Jones will roll out of the Library, who knows, but whatever it would be, it would obviously be their fault.


In between I see nothing of value, nothing worthy of emulation. I see some amphibians, who have escaped the egg of introvert, but are not quite the douchebag of a frog that they will, blossom? into.

I think back to when I was that age, younger maybe, and I remember how they used to tower over me. Not in stature though, in attitude, in their total unwillingness to shut up or to or to even talk below the "I am so insecure that I need to make sure everything that blouts out of my mouth is heard and recognized" decibal level.
Now I walk through the Junior High hall and think, "Damn these kids are short". or maybe I said it, probably very loudly.