It's the Day of Silence today, a day when all types of annoying gay and lesbian loud mouths in high school and college try and keep their damn mouths shut in order to appease some sort of guilt for not doing anything political for the rest of the year.
Told you I was bitchy.
I'm not going to complain about the school, because I try not to. Once I get started, it's hard for me to stop. And besides, they did things right this time. I received a free t-shirt, with the official day of silence logo:
It's a cheap iron-on, but it still looks fairly snappy.
I got my t-shirt yesterday, along with a handful of HRC stickers with disclaimers to hand out to people when they asked why I was honoring the day of silence. I helped organize the Day of Silence at my high school, and I know how hard it is to get everything set up. The GSA had their shit together, which was unusual.
Except for writing a few emails and a few AIM conversations, I've kept the day of silence. Besides, literature survives oppression, so it doesn't count, in my opinion. There's enough bad poetry by gay teenagers around the world to justify writing.
I'm bitching because no one noticed that I was silent. I have a big pile of HRC stickers on my desk. I never realized how few people I talk to on a daily basis. I say "Thanks" to the lunch ladies, maybe trading a quip or two (lunch ladies, in my experience, have always been a hoot), and that's about it. I might say thanks if someone keeps the door open for me, and I occasionally answer a question or two in class, just to speed things along. I only had one class today, which was an embarrassingly demeaning class on the introduction to poetry.
Now, I know my poetry. I went to a charter school for the arts, and my English teacher was the State Poet Laureate, and I know my motherfucking poetry. I won the poetry award in high school. I'm the only person to have two poems in the school literary mag this year. I have a poem on the front page of the English Alumni newsletter. I know my poetry, and the professor (who, thankfully, is retiring at the end of the semester) was butchering things right and left. It was really hard to keep from saying things like "It's called a metaphyscial conceit, motherfucker! And it's called a carpe diem poem, you know, like in that stupid movie?"
But I controlled myself. I was thinking of the children.
.....
So I started out with the idea to blog about how I don't have any friends, and no one noticed my silence, but now I've completely lost all desire to continue. I guess this post isn't as self-depreciating as I thought. Damn you, Chapelle's Show, for ruining my bitter mood.
