Talk about your day thread

[lennytheweedwhacker]

Had my seniors do some writing this week after reading “The Paper Menagerie.” They could either write about the story or about their own parents. 90% went autobiographical. I swear every year the stories get worse. Tons of stories about deadbeat parents, jailed parents, drugs, alcoholism, abuse, abandonment, the foster care system, dead siblings, finding dead siblings, etc. Those are all annual themes, though. This year I have one who witnessed who he thought was his dad commit suicide in front of him, then was later abused mentally, physically, and sexually by the step dad, and then found out his real dad is in jail. Thought that was going to be the low until my immigrant Guatemalan student currently living in a hotel with his brother wrote about how his mom tried to have one of his uncles kill him, and he recently saw videos from home of his younger siblings being mistreated. How the fuck do these kids do math and apply for college? Jesus Christ.

What do you do, Twat?

Ice cream truck training instructor.

[spike]

Had my seniors do some writing this week after reading “The Paper Menagerie.” They could either write about the story or about their own parents. 90% went autobiographical. I swear every year the stories get worse. Tons of stories about deadbeat parents, jailed parents, drugs, alcoholism, abuse, abandonment, the foster care system, dead siblings, finding dead siblings, etc. Those are all annual themes, though. This year I have one who witnessed who he thought was his dad commit suicide in front of him, then was later abused mentally, physically, and sexually by the step dad, and then found out his real dad is in jail. Thought that was going to be the low until my immigrant Guatemalan student currently living in a hotel with his brother wrote about how his mom tried to have one of his uncles kill him, and he recently saw videos from home of his younger siblings being mistreated. How the fuck do these kids do math and apply for college? Jesus Christ.

And that first kid grew up to be Pearl Jam.

[knee tunes]

Had my seniors do some writing this week after reading “The Paper Menagerie.” They could either write about the story or about their own parents. 90% went autobiographical. I swear every year the stories get worse. Tons of stories about deadbeat parents, jailed parents, drugs, alcoholism, abuse, abandonment, the foster care system, dead siblings, finding dead siblings, etc. Those are all annual themes, though. This year I have one who witnessed who he thought was his dad commit suicide in front of him, then was later abused mentally, physically, and sexually by the step dad, and then found out his real dad is in jail. Thought that was going to be the low until my immigrant Guatemalan student currently living in a hotel with his brother wrote about how his mom tried to have one of his uncles kill him, and he recently saw videos from home of his younger siblings being mistreated. How the fuck do these kids do math and apply for college? Jesus Christ.

And that first kid grew up to be Pearl Jam.

[knee tunes]

Had my seniors do some writing this week after reading “The Paper Menagerie.” They could either write about the story or about their own parents. 90% went autobiographical. I swear every year the stories get worse. Tons of stories about deadbeat parents, jailed parents, drugs, alcoholism, abuse, abandonment, the foster care system, dead siblings, finding dead siblings, etc. Those are all annual themes, though. This year I have one who witnessed who he thought was his dad commit suicide in front of him, then was later abused mentally, physically, and sexually by the step dad, and then found out his real dad is in jail. Thought that was going to be the low until my immigrant Guatemalan student currently living in a hotel with his brother wrote about how his mom tried to have one of his uncles kill him, and he recently saw videos from home of his younger siblings being mistreated. How the fuck do these kids do math and apply for college? Jesus Christ.

What do you do, Twat?

Ice cream truck training instructor.

I was going to say acrobatic scout

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Higgs]

Fuck. That's grim.

[BurtReynolds]

Man, that's rough. In related news, I lost my damn earbud case today.

[96583UP]

um yeah that feels like stuff that is supposed to be reported? to the principal? and maybe from there, child services / law enforcement?

[96583UP]

Happy Friday

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[Higgs]

Pretty sure we have mandatory reporting here for that sort of stuff. Certainly in the health sector, but I assume education may well also.

[Jorge]

The other day I was getting ready to go to the gym and I realized I was out of supplements for my pre workout shake so I put my boots on and went to the door. I got to the store and bought my workout supplements and when I got back to my car I saw that somebody had scratched "MAGA" into the door of my brand new Tesla. What has the world come to? The woke left has no human decency

[doug rr]

did you bench press more?

[96583UP]

Took a nice long bike ride by the beach

Very chilly, easterly wind. Some fog even

Listened to Battle of Los Angeles

A couple of those tracks are elite: Ashes In the Fall, New Millennium Homes, War Within a Breath

made some chickpea pasta

been thinking a lot about fiber lately

[Jorge]

I like "Maria" from that album

[Farmer John]

Maria and Mic Check are the two best songs on that album (IMO)

[tragabigzanda]

There is a wolf in me . . . fangs pointed for tearing gashes . . . a red tongue for raw meat . . . and the hot lapping of blood—I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fox in me . . . a silver-gray fox . . . I sniff and guess . . . I pick things out of the wind and air . . . I nose in the dark night and take sleepers and eat them and hide the feathers . . . I circle and loop and double-cross.

There is a hog in me . . . a snout and a belly . . . a machinery for eating and grunting . . . a machinery for sleeping satisfied in the sun—I got this too from the wilderness and the wilderness will not let it go.

There is a fish in me . . . I know I came from salt-blue water-gates . . . I scurried with shoals of herring . . . I blew waterspouts with porpoises . . . before land was . . . before the water went down . . . before Noah . . . before the first chapter of Genesis.

There is a baboon in me . . . clambering-clawed . . . dog-faced . . . yawping a galoot's hunger . . . hairy under the armpits . . . here are the hawk-eyed hankering men . . . here are the blonde and blue-eyed women . . . here they hide curled asleep waiting . . . ready to snarl and kill . . . ready to sing and give milk . . . waiting—I keep the baboon because the wilderness says so.

There is an eagle in me and a mockingbird . . . and the eagle flies among the Rocky Mountains of my dreams and fights among the Sierra crags of what I want . . . and the mockingbird warbles in the early forenoon before the dew is gone, warbles in the underbrush of my Chattanoogas of hope, gushes over the blue Ozark foothills of my wishes—And I got the eagle and the mockingbird from the wilderness.

O, I got a zoo, I got a menagerie, inside my ribs, under my bony head, under my red-valve heart—and I got something else: it is a man-child heart, a woman-child heart: it is a father and mother and lover: it came from God-Knows-Where: it is going to God-Knows-Where—For I am the keeper of the zoo: I say yes and no: I sing and kill and work: I am a pal of the world: I came from the wilderness.

[E.H. Ruddock]

oh man give me voice of the voiceless all day

[washing machine]

I like Guerilla Radio

[Farmer John]

It's been a while since I've listened to it, but I'd be hard pressed to find a song on that album that I don't like.