Creative Writing

Back in 2001 I took an advanced Creative Writing class at Hilbert.  Our final exam was to do a poem, or literature reading, of between five and seven minutes.  It had to be original stuff.

I had two good friends in class, and the poetry reading was held at The Screening Room on Sheridan, in front of a good amount of complete strangers...but alas, they sold alcohol there, so this was going to be a breeze!  The entire English department (all of my past, present and future professors) were in attendance, but they were indulging a tad too, so it wasn't super high-pressure, but it was pretty awkward.

So, me and my two dudes, Jigga (his initials were J.Z, so I gave him that brilliant nickname) and Paul.  We hit it hard.  A small round table that ended up just littered by empty Labbatt Blue bottles.  This was a room filled with women, and gay men.  We may have been the only three heterosexual males in attendance.

The artist formerly known as Sarah Wagner came to see the train wreck with Kristin.  Combing through my stuff I found one of my original works, and I must say it brought the house down....If bringing the house down means bringing a room full of people to dead silence.  Here goes...Langston Hughes forgive me:

2B a Monkey

I want to be a monkey,

How great that would be;

I'd spend all damn day

Swinging from a tree.

You wouldn't have to buy clothes

To look all slick;

All you'd have to do is smile

And you'd get mad chicks.

2B a monkey,

It would be great;

I could use my feet

to masturbate.

This is Shel Silverstein-ish if he were an absolute pervert.  I got an A in this class.  The other poems I read were thieved directly from 2Pac's book of poetry.  

The entire class, all semester, we had to share creative pieces, and every single piece I wrote was about the exploits of me, Big Jay, Jersey Joe (aka Guido), and Schieda water-ballooning and egging people...I changed the names to protect my fellas, but I think Dr. Hughes was on to me.  I remember after sharing one piece, he suggested branching out from "suburban bacchanalia."    

I'll get drunk and post the emo poems that are in this book I found...they are horrendus.  Sadly though, they absolutely show the pre-cursors of depression.