Class Project by Adam Robinson

Cl ass Pr o ject Jason Bredle

Publishing Genius Chapbook Series No. 26

Publishing Genius makes books. www.PublishingGenius.com With Keyhole Press, Publishing Genius also operates isReads, The Outdoor Journal, at www.isReads.com and Everyday Genius at Everyday-Genius.com. Class Project is the 26th edition of Chapbook Genius. Visit www.PublishingGenius.com for the archives. Publishing Genius 2200 Maryland Ave C1 Baltimore, MD 21218 PG Chapbook Genius 026 Copyright ÂŠ 2010 Jason Bredle

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Red Soda Breadfruit Candy Fountain The Song Banana Clouds Aubade Unsolved Mystery Orange Crush Prism Reverie Earth Night Fancy Buttons Twilight Box Running Away Jam

for Rebecca

What we don’t understand is why this has to happen this way, why we are here and it’s raining outside. The absurd thing is not things themselves; what is absurd is that the things are there and that we think they are absurd. —Julio Cortázar

Two or three miles beyond this, as I went on my way, I saw a man standing on the bank, who, as I came opposite to him, called out, “My friend, do you love venison?” —John Tanner

Red Soda Cómo se dice please don’t kill me is a question I hope to never ask someone while vacationing is a thought many people have before falling asleep each night is something I once read in a guidebook to a place I may never visit is something you once wrote on a piece of paper and tore into smaller pieces and threw from the observation deck of a tall building which I thought beautiful because cómo se dice please don’t kill me is a question I hope to never ask someone while vacationing is a thought I have before falling asleep each night and last night those torn pieces of paper came to me in a dream and I put them together and buried them in my front yard is a dream I had late one afternoon when I was feeling like there were so many singing voices I didn’t understand and I wanted to run away but I didn’t know why I felt this way or why there were so many singing voices I didn’t understand. I’d driven to work like always and on the way I thought there are people who think about what they’re doing and there are people who feel what they’re doing and I’m the latter, which I wrote on a piece of paper when I arrived at work and tore into smaller pieces and threw from the observation deck of a tall building. I hope you find them, because if you do, I think it might mean we’re supposed to be together.

Breadfruit

Sometimes I write my name on my underpants to remember who I am and sometimes I write someone else’s name on my underpants to forget who I am. Like how you end up here? You stare out a window fifty hours a week— sometimes people dig holes and other people stare at the holes. Sometimes they appear satisfied, sometimes they appear angered by incompetence, sometimes they stand around the holes in groups of five and discuss. One time a guy knelt before one of the holes. Like how sometimes I wear your underpants? They’re far more comfortable, not to mention sexier, than my own. Sometimes it rains here, sometimes someone finds a dead person floating in a pool, sometimes the Guyanese ambassador is shot in a car park. Some things about me: I like breadfruit, curry, plantains, roti, and chickpeas. My favorite rice is jollof. I like to take showers, I like to romanticize cocaine and suicide, I like to ride in vans across mountains thinking I’ll die at any moment while listening to music full of sexual euphemisms and talking to guys with cutlasses in a language I don’t understand. I like to remember my cat, when we were younger, sitting on our windowsill. I sometimes wonder what phulourie tastes like, I sometimes think about a story I once read of someone drowning, his last words, I’m giving up now. Like how you stare out a window fifty hours a week? You think, my situations are a result of my previous actions. 2

You think, I’ll jump here. You think, I’ll pretend it’s 2005 for two years. You think, can you always count on me? You think, how much would it cost to fly to Port Louis? You think, why do I dream so much of air and water? You think, I can’t wait to go home, take off my underpants, cross out my name and write Roger.

Candy Fountain Pretend it’s not raining or pretend the city has enough awnings. Pretend you remember the last time we spoke. For example, I could talk about the ferris wheel— shaped like the elbow of a dancer you once loved, shaped like the elbow of a dancer who left you for Tokyo Disney. My favorite story isn’t the one about the boy who falls into the abandoned grain elevator but the one about the boy who erases his memory to save his dying mother. Pretend this song doesn’t remind you of the desert, pretend it reminds you of the carnival. But what does that mean? Pretend I’m writing to you backwards, pretend I’m in love with you. Here, you said, handing me an elephant ear, pretend this is my heart. When I’m hiding, you yelled, when I’m hiding from oh my God I’m so scared oh my God I’m so scared oh my God I’m so scared. I love this song, I yelled back. There are blue ribbon goats and there are blue ribbon goats and then there are blue ribbon goats! Like an oasis of light rising above the energy, like an oasis of quiet rising above the energy. Now, pretend there’s a body of water in front of you. Now pretend there’s a body in front of you. Last night, I dreamt I was at the carnival. I couldn’t find you 4

and I was about to die and I wanted to explain so many things to you but I knew Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d never find you. Later I dreamt I explained the dream to you. I woke four times covered with sweat. Being in love will make you do crazy things on ferris wheels.

The Song Banana Sometimes I love the song banana and sometimes the song banana makes me completely crazy is what I wrote on a postcard, placed in my pocket and walked to Happy Foods wondering what might happen on one of those days I’d been feeling especially lost. What might happen? I placed avocados, chocolate milk, the latest Us Weekly and pineapple gummies into a basket and placed the basket on the checkout counter. I wondered if the cashier could place all my items into an equation, solve it and help me understand myself and my relationship with everything. He reminded me of Wesley Snipes. Like Snipes, he was Snipey. What if I told you I was en route to having an affair? What if I told you the postcard was from Suriname? I took the items to a house I lived in two years ago, sat in the backyard and wondered if anyone was home and if I’d ever even lived there. I thought of the way you used to run to me when I’d walk through the door and I missed it. I took a gummy out of the bag and ate it while thinking about all the ways the song banana had failed— it knew too many Andrew W.K. songs, it’d wake you in the middle of the night singing Dr. Feelgood as angrily as it could, it broke your microwave oven, it slept with your girlfriend, it transferred money from your bank account 6

to its own offshore account, it lurked in gay nightclubs looking for someone to kill and that was it because you draw the line at sexual intolerance! Enough is enough is enough already, song banana! But when you called the manufacturer you were placed into such a maze of recordings that repair or refund seemed pointless. What were you supposed to do next? You hung up the telephone. You closed your knapsack and you wrote sometimes I love the song banana and sometimes the song banana makes me completely crazy on a postcard, placed it in your pocket and walked to Happy Foods wondering if anything might happen. Your homophobic singing banana remained at home.

Clouds That was the day someone called me an elitist fuckwad for liking mashed potatoes. But they’re the perfect side and I dare you to challenge that notion! That was the day someone called you an independently wealthy Marxist poseur for wearing a reindeer sweater. I’d been heightening my love of mashed potatoes to a level of parody to illustrate a point I’ve since forgotten. A girl with a black balloon, a vanilla milkshake. We used to come here often. Is it true you slept with him because you didn’t know how to say goodbye? Do you regret it? I always wonder about people who say they have no regrets. I regret things I did twenty minutes ago. Like when you called that guy a hipster douche for not liking mashed potatoes? Yeah, but how could you not like mashed potatoes? That’s inhuman! Yes, but what do you regret? I made a wrong decision, people needed so many things from me and I didn’t know what to do I didn’t know what to do I didn’t know what to do and I knew, I knew I didn’t want to hurt her but I didn’t know who I was at the time because someone else said something that made me look at things in a way I’d never looked at things and then she needed answers and I didn’t have answers 8

I didn’t have answers I didn’t have answers and I gave up. For two years I pretended it was 2005 even though it wasn’t 2005 anymore. I’ve wanted to tell you so many things lately, but instead I’ve been staring out the window at clouds, remembering the day we were driving to Burlington Coat Factory, how the sun was setting and you said something about clouds and we had this great conversation about clouds but I missed the turn and had to make a u-turn and someone honked and you reached over me, honked back, and yelled out the window hey asshole, maybe you wouldn’t be so upset if you thought about clouds sometimes!

Aubade One doesn’t make a bowl of cereal, bowls of cereal just happen is what I’d say if you were sitting across from me at the breakfast table right now. And then, if everything were to go as planned, two bowls of Corn Flakes would appear in front of us, milked, berried, spooned and ready to eat! Then I’d say, one doesn’t make a potato pancake, potato pancakes just happen, and a plate of potato pancakes would appear in front of us, cooked, sauced, forked and ready to eat! Then I’d say, one doesn’t make honey and brown sugar sausage links, honey and brown sugar sausage links just happen, and a plate of sausage links would appear in front of us, honeyed, browned, sugared and ready to eat! Then I’d say, one doesn’t pour a glass of chocolate milk, glasses of chocolate milk just happen, and two glasses of chocolate milk would appear in front of us, milked, chocolated, glassed and ready to drink! Then I’d say, one doesn’t consult the food guide pyramid to ensure we’re getting a balanced breakfast, and you’d cry out like a hawk and we’d soar over our happening breakfast like two hawks soaring over an open meadow full of field mice and chipmunks. Then I’d say, one doesn’t hunt, swoop down upon and capture a field mouse or chipmunk, field mice and chipmunks just happen! It’s been so good to see you again, you’d say, the sun beginning its path above the browning ridge. 10

Soon, winter. Already some of our closest friends have gone south. I miss them already, I’d say, I really do miss them already. And that’s when you’d turn south too, the wind taking you over the horizon, and I’d think to myself, if only you were sitting across from me at the breakfast table right now. I’d say, one doesn’t make a bowl of cereal, bowls of cereal just happen. And then, as if everything had gone as planned, two bowls of Corn Flakes would appear in front of us, milked, berried, spooned and ready to eat.

Unsolved Mystery An elementary school teacher, a part time dog walker, an organic farmer, an economist, a sexologist, a magician, an amusement park planner, a personal assistant to a beauty queen, a retired radio announcer, a cell biologist and a minor league baseball umpire listen to a man who masturbates to photographs of women posing sexually with balloons explain why another man is not the missing link between the overturned patio furniture, the surveillance video of the woman with the hamsters and the murder of one of the most widely respected restaurant critics in the valley. While it may be true, the man says, that he attempted to acquire a used, wicker dining set from a man who played Cop #3 in a movie about a woman who receives perverted fax messages from a man who mistakenly believes heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s harassing a woman with whom he once danced at a self-empowerment convention, and while it may be true that he discussed the idea of purchasing many, many hamsters with a pet store owner who sometimes reenacts the Civil War with a friend from high school because he feels partially responsible for his friend having lost his job canvassing for the environment, and while it may be true that a man who spends his weekends making erotic films of women pouring baked beans on themselves overheard him dismissing a negative review of the sour cream and wasabi potatoes at the local fusion cafĂŠ 12

written by the critic and published in a recent issue of Food Regional, this man is not the missing link. No, heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s not the missing link! He is, in fact, merely one missing piece in a series of missing pieces which, as a whole, create a missing link. To really make sense of this, the man says, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d suggest you find Takahashi Ichiro, the amateur motocross racer who, early one morning on his way home from intimidating a high school skateboarding punk whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d bitten off more than he could chew, so to speak, with respect to a local horsemeat smuggling operation, saw in the sky a bright violet light glide into the mountains to the south of the valley, then scatter, like glass, into the darkness of the alpine forest.

Orange Crush It doesn’t matter how I die, I want the news reports to say autoerotic asphyxiation is something you once said to me that I never understood. And now, you’re gone. I sit in the co-op, drink carrot juice and think about the day we insisted the juicers make us carrot juice the same orange as your shirt, how they made you remove it so they could hold it up to the juicing machine and match the oranges exactly. We took a photo of you and the juice for the university’s ping pong bulletin. It was mostly ginger, like the way you insisted you’d always wanted the square because you knew it would fit and I’d always wanted the circle because of its silver top even though you’d always wanted the circle because of its silver top and I’d always wanted the square because I knew it would fit. Now I sit in my apartment and think about that photo because I can’t look at the photo because I lost it sometime during the two years I pretended it was 2005. I moved eight blocks away and convinced myself I was starting over. For the next two years I’d drive frantically around the city crying with animals wearing cones who were also crying. See, I was missing something, which is why I often panicked. See, I was lost, which is why I often picnicked. 14

Even though I wanted to know what I was doing I didn’t know what I was doing but things kept moving forward moving forward moving forward and you said this and I said I understand what you’re saying but I’m thinking this and you said this isn’t going to work, it’s not going to work, and at the time, at the time I was devastated as I stood in the lot of a supermarket where I’d no longer be able to shop. And then I met Caren, who took me to the top of her building, filled a sleeping bag with warm water, placed me inside and pushed me down three flights of stairs.

Prism Reverie That’s when I began loaning books, forgetting about loaning books, and believing, when I couldn’t find books, that owning books in the first place had been a dream. In the dream you asked if I’d rather go to heaven or space. In the dream we’d met ten years earlier. In the dream we lived in Guyana. In the dream we did completely different things during the day than we do now. People of the future: have you found the descendents of our cats and how are they? Tell them hello for us. Tell them with the exception of a few celebrities and political leaders most of us spend our time doing things we’ve decided are acceptable things to do but rarely are we inspired. Wake, dress, work, post office, bank, lunch, work, Happy Foods, dinner, prepare for tomorrow and fall asleep. There are exceptions. I ate four shrimp, four crackers and four Oreo cookies for lunch, for example. What were once simple systems have developed into elaborate systems containing elaborate systems within them. People of the future: have things become simple again? I hope so. Tell the descendents of our cats that within these elaborate systems people interact with each other and only sometimes is it positive. 16

Sometimes a prescription medication is approved, good news regarding the success of a family member is relayed, but most often someone arrives home and cries, someone is in an altercation with a bunch of mean guys, someone lies because of love or someone dies. We have this thing called music and it seems like the more people who’ve heard a specific piece of music the more likely the piece of music is not good but nonetheless this may cause others to question their own concept of good. Do I not understand what good means or does my interpretation of good belong in an alternate reality? And if so should I be there instead of here? Sunshine, you are my sunshine. People of the future: I used to feel passionate about lunch and I used to cry at shoe commercials and rock concerts but then I began loaning books, forgetting about loaning books, and believing, when I couldn’t find books, that owning them in the first place had been a dream. In the dream you asked if I’d rather go to heaven or space. In the dream we’d met ten years earlier. In the dream we lived in Guyana. In the dream we did completely different things during the day than we do now. In the dream I thought I understood everything, but when I woke I realized I’d never understood anything.

Earth Night Right now I’d love to be sitting on some guy’s chair while he sits on a nearby couch with his wife casually next to him, the red lights from the Chinese grocery across the street shining through the window over her skin, her black hair, her earrings, and we’d be talking about how small we are when you think about the number of galaxies out there or how so many people buy into a capitalist hierarchy without even realizing it and it makes us struggle with things we shouldn’t have to struggle with because in order to survive we need to place ourselves within the capitalist hierarchy. I wonder if we’d be wearing sweaters. I imagine him in a brown sweater and me in a green sweater and piles of books and notes and vases everywhere. We’d laugh a lot and later I’d remember everything we’d laughed about. I’d wonder, can he tell that his wife and I were once in love? Maybe I said too much when remarking upon her bracelets and her green eyes, how she can drape her arm around a thing so languidly as if we were back home again the last summer we spent together before placing ourselves into different lives. The way she’d take an ice cube from a cooler and run it down the nape of her neck, the way she’d hang her arm out a car window. But things happen. You’re eighteen, she’s had an abortion. You move north, she moves west. 18

Yet still you find each other years later in a Chinatown apartment having conversations about how we must look to aliens who watch us watch boxes each night showing people throwing oranges at each other, showing people plotting to throw other people off of an island and showing people dedicating their lives to things that don’t exist. My girlfriend would never be interested in those conversations is what I’d say if I hadn’t met you is what I thought to myself last night on the back porch, and I felt bad for having never told the guy’s wife I felt that way so many years ago and I felt even worse for having never told you I feel that way now.

Fancy Buttons I’d like to get the names of my body parts tattooed all over my body so that if I were to ever fall apart, I’d be easy to reassemble. Like how they used to make the kaleidoscope? Head here arm here chest here, no no the legs attach to the pelvis not the chest! I miss nights like that, the way you’d call, say fantastic news from India! New mangoes on the way and they’re going to blow our minds! How I’d wonder if we could trick a real bunny into mating with a fake bunny. The ears attach to the head not the hands do you copy good buddy? Imagine a girl who travels through time and sleeps with boys of various historical eras, you’d say, and you’ll have imagined me. Like a bunny? Like sleeping with a fake bunny? Knees don’t go there they go here right here! I miss nights like that, disassembling and reassembling myself again and again, falling in love with pilots, fancy buttons, how I miss them! Now it’s only the glow of whatever light is out there, lighting the path from this place to the next. I’d imagine sleeping with a guy from medieval Europe might be dangerous, but not as dangerous as a guy from 1950’s middle America! No no no the ears and the nose go on the head and I do miss those nights, when I’d hear my neighbor arrive home and his daughter yell, Daddy, let’s play! How I’d think, kids man. Wow. 20

I already know what you’re thinking. Someday our planet will have homogenized into one massive culture. I realized this myself a while ago, in my living room, listening to airplanes approach one after another after another. The eye attaches to the chest not the ear? That’s when I imagine aliens will discover, pillage, and kill us. I do miss those nights, the way you’d act on roller coasters, how you’d wear goggles on waterslides so I wouldn’t feel stupid.

Twilight Box From one lemur to a city of many other lemurs, have a good evening is how I suggested the local news anchor end his broadcasts in a letter I wrote him last year. I don’t remember why I was so into lemurs at the time, but like most of my letters to regional celebrities, it went unanswered. And then, we were sad. We sat often on porches. I spilled mustard on my pants and that upset me. To make myself feel better, I wrote a rap star living in the area, asking him if he thought our local news anchor should end his broadcasts from one lemur to a city of many other lemurs, have a good evening. It also went unanswered. Sometimes we played wiffle ball with neighborhood kids to cheer ourselves up. I didn’t bother with the whole lemur news anchor question because I didn’t think they’d be interested. I’d race them down the street on their bikes, we’d lie in the backyard and watch the airplanes fly overhead. It seemed we’d all moved on. We bought a garden hose and three flower pots. Mom called sometimes and we’d talk, I decided I needed to fix the porch light. Then one night, as my favorite show was about to begin, I came across those pants with the mustard stain. Those were the days, weren’t they? The way we’d sit, all sad? How upset the mustard stain made me, how I thought writing Kanye West could solve our problems, how the idea of hearing our local news anchor say from one lemur to a city of many other lemurs, have a good evening meant something to me. 22

Running Away Jam I wish I could take a microphone everywhere I go so everyone would hear me is how I began a letter to my parents that summer dawns were bursting all around me is what I’m thinking as my airplane descends into America’s taint, New Jersey, and I turn to you and say ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, we’ve now begun our descent into America’s taint and you laugh because now you’re not thinking about the things you’d been thinking about like how you’ll never know what it’s like to have a brother or sister— you can only imagine how it feels to see your brother during a holiday and remember the time you produced an installation of the Last Supper with Chewbaccas and how once school ended you decided you couldn’t take it anymore, no one understood you no one understood you no one understood you didn’t belong here you didn’t belong here and you ran away and left only this letter that began I wish I could take a microphone everywhere I go so everyone would hear me is what you’re thinking about when you hear the captain say ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, we’ve now begun our descent into America’s taint and you turn to me and ask if I’m thinking I could die right now on this airplane 23

or if I’m thinking I’m not ready to die right now on this airplane I’m not ready to die right now on this airplane I’m not ready to die right now on this airplane.

Thank you editors of the following publications, where versions of some of these poems first appeared: Barn Owl Review, “Clouds” Green Mountains Review, “The Song Banana” H-NGM-N, “Red Soda,” “Prism Reverie,” “Running Away Jam” Low Rent, “Unsolved Mystery” Noö Journal, “Candy Fountain” Octopus, “Breadfruit,” “Earth Night,” “Fancy Buttons” Redivider, “Twilight Box” Seven Corners, “Aubade” Thank you, as well, to my friends and family. Special thanks to my cats.