Baby, I’m sorry
I’m not sorry!
Lord knows I’m not.
I went from Bryson Tiller to Demi Lovato in a matter of months.
History seems to be the subject that I cover on a daily basis and here I am, again in US History with yet another set of 8th graders that at times emphatically cuss at a volume level that Nick Jonas would love.
And Stokley from Mint Condition would agree in the sense that they (the students) aren’t on mine.
It seems that my adequate use of the English language had one student assume that I was in the good classes.
I questioned the definition of good in her syntax and I explained to her that CP, Honors, or AP shouldn’t matter if you study and work hard (longer than this child that was twirking on his female counterpart. I shake my head at the antics as acronyms do this sentence and the actions any justice).
Animal communication is prevalent in this classroom, as I took the sound patterns from Kanye West‘s song Wolves to match with the little hounds that embraced Gucci Mane (I’m a dog in the presence of baby hounds).
I created what Bach embodied in his musical framework:
Formalism at its finest in the form of failed aggravation.
Overlaping sounds, stacked on top of one another, over and over again without fail; as I explain in a very ambigious statement:
“F‘s are what you are displaying, while I give none at all to your effort when you don’t attempt to start.”
And yes, for the record, that F means more that just fail.
An epic display of a play at words at its finest, as eloquent as Caroline Shaw‘s remixed rendition of Say You Will.
In a Room Full of Teeth, I see the minors that are to be orchestrated.
Soon they will be major keys.
But today, they are in the minor leagues.