4 hour tutorials

This happened yesterday. I didn't have time to post it then, but here it is now, for your enjoyment or hatred.

* * * * *

4- Hour Tutorials and Omigosh I’m Tired
Well, I’m writing this in sections, in the ten minute breaks I’ve scheduled after each hour. After talking my ass off for an hour I’m already tired and I still have three hours to go – there is no way I can keep this up! They say men only speak 2000 words a day; I think I have already fulfilled my quota.

I have to say I have missed university-level tutoring. Though English is not my area of expertise (literature certainly), it is fun to have an open forum of ideas and not just the usual one sullen school student and their fatuous mathematics problems.

FATUOUS I SAY!

Anyway, yeah. Tutoring! Its great. Somehow I have been managing to provide a good quality service (or so it would seem) to my kiddies (even though at least one of them is older than me, tutlings is probably a better word). I find it strange how eloquent and clever they can be with a little encouragement, but they obviously need a boost in the right direction. The biggest problem seems to be poetry. Oh boy, do I know that feeling...

I still have difficulty getting the hand of things like trochaic meter, enjambment and caesure. Sometimes I think poets are being deliberately obtuse about the whole cadenza just to keep themselves viable :P. But as a dabbler in terrible, terrible poetry myself, it would be harsh of me to unjustly criticise the profession. or vocation. Or whatever it is.

Gotta go, they are back from their last break. You have to have breaks in a thing like this: no-one can concentrate for 4 hours straight, NO-ONE I SAY. let's analysis some madda-squagging poetry, beeyotch.

Gosh, poetry? For Realsies?

With Apologies to Allen Ginsberg

Actinic flare
Tropic seizure, emerald glancing bitch friends slutty boyfriends
Everywhere dancing
Pleasing, to the eye interested in girls kissing boys kissing boys hugging
Sisters from behind looking like lovers, opening mouths and talking
Eye contact
Never making it past the first awkward hell-
I take off my clothes and people draw pictures of me
For money
We want you, both of you, kiss on the stage
In Denmark its totally legal, young people watch all the time, tutored in
The finest of colonial expressions, the caramel and white flesh mixing
Hands on the porch, too-and-fro, leaving behind circular handprints on a father’s lap
Here I come, here I come, here I come no more
Sugar please, too much excitement after that extravaganza
Bonanza
Colours rioting, stampeding, fifty dead
While huge-hatted white coats and beautiful dresses talk about pinkness
And the immaturity of those who won’t embrace it
Slip inside it
Make it slippery and moist with
And I’m there, and here, and everywhere
Hugging people, I’d like them to be more than friends
Less that lovers who make me smile
Feel warm and good
Human contact is a wonderful thing except it always ends in tears and recriminations
It doesn’t have to
Emerald eyes, green with love
Brown with energy
Blue with wisdom
Grey with comprehension
Kissing other eyes other people and we’re dancing, all of us, in a warm naked place where no-one has to be anyone but everyone is
Smiling