possible video essay script

Ears, I've always thought, are the strangest organ. Like fleshy satellite dishes, or halves of apricots, dried into wrinkled disks. As waxy like a newborn baby. It's possible I hate them because mine are freakishly small, like tiny tacked on afterthoughts. Listening is the most passive sensory experience. Its involuntary. Can't close your ears. [shut up and sleep with me shut up and sleep with me, why don't you come and sleep with me.] Songs rattle on and on. Conversations drone. Your morning alarm drills into sleep, as damaging as an oil rig at 6 in the morning. I've never been a good listener. Not to alarms, or rules, or people. I find it tiresome, the constant tirade of words we trade like a valuable commodity. There's a dog in South Carolina named Chaser who knows 1000 nouns. There's nothing sacred about words. I've found it's sometimes easier to communicate when I can't speak the language at all. A foreign language envelops you, like a cloud, or a shroud, but it can't penetrate. In this way it is truer and less deceiving.

Sugarbush

she smelled of garlic and the sun was so bright that it glinted off the drips of water falling from the eaves and off the mug in three spots and even off the polished wood of the table that sat heavy legged in the center of the room, big enough to make love on. I thought for no reason of an image i'd photoshopped in high school, of a man standing suspended above a lake, a great lake that stretched out like crumpled tin foil in dimming light. 

we all wore polar fleece and when we moved sparks flew between us, tiny pricks of light and heat and sound that reminded us we were existing, this was existence, we were perceiving through the orifices that dotted our bodies like windows at the top of a tall fleshy turret. we rolled, then, on the floor like puppies with this knowledge, giddy on the smell of our own skin, the itch of our feet, the feeling of teeth on our tongues. 

Rm. 446

everyday the desks crowd a little closer to the front, hunching towards the white board, crowding the room, at every angle, no straight lines, the spaces between each row shrinking until the kids are crammed in like the buildings in this neighborhood, where behind each housing project rises another, dominoes in the distance, waiting to be toppled.

Misinformation I’ve Heard Taught in My Classroom by Other Teachers

Humans have been only on the moon and mars.

If you don't leave mars at 4 o clock you will never get back to earth; remember everything is round; remember if you miss it you'll just be chilling in space with people who look like Shihab (Shihab being the only Indian kid in a room full of black kids and a black teacher, the white teacher, me, sitting in the back of the room, watching).

the gravity is almost the same on mars.

we have the ozone layer; they don’t.

There is, whatchu call, solar debris. it burns up before it even gets close to where a plane flies. You can be on mars and if a rock comes flying you can get hit by a rock. 

Whatever gas it has it will consume you. Your blood will boil, a lot of things will happen.