Frank’s Log V

A really stupid picture of an Aspen tree. A waste of some type of color film. Probably Portra 400.

Blah blah blah
Pigs goats fiddlesticks nightmare schism

A Wednesday left unturned.
Nether regions of light and mustard.

It’s unjust to pickle your leftovers if the dogs are unfed.
That’s why clowns don’t joke at home.

So go back to the basics, give yourself a test:
What’s the square root of life?
Why don’t the homeless pee in the shower?
Why do horses make faces at us?
Is it really expected that you run with the wind?

I don’t know. I really don’t, but whatever.
I’ve got something to do.

“Yea well, I don’t make the rules.”
“Bullshit. What a bullshit thing to say. You’re a spineless shitpile.”
“Wonderful. I appreciate the kind words, but again… I’m just following the rules.”
“Exactly right! You never even–”
“It would be to your advantage for you to do the same.”

Dontay considered the exchange with bemusement and almost hilarity. He had envisioned a much different course for the chat. He thought he would engage Mr. Stasney in an honest discussion of the merits (though mainly the lack thereof) of the prevailing system of education. Of course, as a first-year teacher, how could he expect anyone to appreciate his thoughts on the usefulness of education?

Charles’ responses had been too predictable:
“This is how it’s always been done.”
“We’re giving these young people a practical education.”
“Our students’ test scores are well above average! What more could you want?”

How do people become so rote? So utterly fucking boring, docile, and lame?
Mr. Stasney now attending to something more important – the design of the yearbook cover – Dontay shook his head. It troubled him to feel so troubled. Why doesn’t anyone see the issues here? Or care enough to want to change it?
Everyone is still in the cave, and willfully remaining there.

What are your thoughts?