Yearbook Theory

Isaiah RubioRabbit Heart Publishing

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Rabbit Heart Publishing 2015

For orders, inquiries, and correspondence, please contact by email at:

rubioisaiah@gmail.com

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Acknowledgements

I’d like to acknowledge getting into poetry class by the skin of my teeth. None of this would’ve been possible if I followed that voice telling me not to try crash the course.

Lee Herrick, for helping me believe in myself, consider pursuing poetry, and being there to guide.

Juan Guzman, for opening up my eyes to the concept of language, not context.

YouTube, for being the platform for content creators to create videos to help broke college students like me. Shout out to Sea Lemon in particular.

The craft of poetry, for the continual refining of my writing skills and making me more disciplined day after day.

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Contents:

Yearbook

I Believe.......................................................................1A Memory of My Father..............................................3Would You Like to Dance?...........................................4Two Paintings Encased in a Plastic Frame...................5Aloof.............................................................................6During Sacrament.........................................................7But I’d Like To.............................................................8Untitled Prompt #14...................................................10Camping.....................................................................11Records.......................................................................13

Theory

My Life as Eraserhead................................................17Charles Bukowski Stopped By House One Time.......19David Lynch is My Homeboy....................................20When We Travel Out of Space...................................22Microcosmos..............................................................24

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YEARBOOK

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I Believe

I believe that intelligence was

and will continue to be eternal.

At their very cores, I believe

most people are good. I am a firm believer

in correct principles rather than social mores.

To truly win in life, is to spend time with those you love.

But that is not a belief. That is truth.

If you really want to change the world,

you best believe you teach those little brats

about your own set of ideals.

When we sincerely serve others, I believe

we sincerely serve ourselves. I believe in Pizza,

and the happiness it brings to the world.

I also believe that there’s nothing better

than a comfy warm nap. I believe that if a dog learns

to climb the chain link fence, you should be scared.

I believe Morrissey when he made me realize

that some girls are bigger than others.

I believe that those who tend to be mute

are some of the best people you should get to know.

I believe in silence, and the clarity we receive

if we allow it envelope us. I believe

that someday

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I’ll be able to combine emotions and moments

with the scalpel edge of language to create

what we call poetry.

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A Memory of My Father

The green metal door opens

disrupting the basic lesson

on subjects and predicates.

A large, strong figure

looks for me

under that door frame.

We lock eyes. Confused.

Pops is here

on my birthday.

From my wobbly desk

I walk to him,

and reach out to him.

I embrace his blackened arms.

Motor oil, grease,

and Fast Orange

note his dingy uniform.

“It’s a surprise.” he says,

when we get into that rusted white Oldsmobile.

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Would You Like to Dance?

My right hand rests on the vale called your waist.

Offbeat we two step like drunks

in a stupor. Behind red lipstick your crooked teeth bare

and your eyes hide themselves

in the folds of your smiling brow.

I should keep learning more about you

but 3 minutes is not enough.

I am quick to jump, palms perspire. I want to vomit

either on you, me, or the hardwood floor. Instead Idivulge

Let me take you out sometime this week.

Giving me your number, seemed too easy for you,

just know I was shaking internally.

To the edge of the floor, I made my way.

I sat in one copper plated chair, ignorant

of the pulsating heartbeat. Of mine or the music,

I don’t know, but for a brief moment I realized

This is not the beginning of the end.

I look at you with your friends for a second or two

until I realized I had better things to do

like taking the edge off. I took water from the orange jug and downed a pint from that Styrofoam cup.

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Two Paintings Encased in a Plastic Frame

MC Bat Commander preserves

a more priceless piece:

A watercolor

given at the wind down of high school.

She listened to Hateful Abandoned

and didn’t skimp on the blood.

But like pigment

on paper, eventually

it dries out, then leaves a stain.

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Aloof

By his side, she prayed the hamburgers and fries shemade

were good enough, and that he wouldn’t take offence

for wasting his time with such a disrespectful

dinner. He strained himself all day sweating in thevalley heat.

So why couldn’t she get through her thick little skull

that a decent meal be made? And why were the blocks,

Legos, cars, dolls, and crayons still on the floor?

A man should be proud to walk in his own home

that he paid for, and not have to worry about aharrowing mess.

With a case of Coors Light and a pack of Marlboros,

he’d sit in front of the T.V., watching the Giants

lose another game. Everyday he’d pray

that he was far from this life, his wife, and children.

Through glassy eyes, he watched the game,

and slugged down his ninth beer.

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During Sacrament

As I sit in Sacrament silence,

the spirit is said to dwell here.

I have heard its whisper once

or twice. Maybe it was it just me.

The young Deacon, thirteen,

stretches out the body of Christ

in the aluminum tray for my family.

Nervous eyes scan, quivering

hands, he has no idea

why he does this. Yet I partake an edge

of Wonder bread, spongy, light as air.

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But I’d Like To

I’ve never been able to

work out and diet

with discipline and perfection

to become the most jacked bro

you’ve ever seen

but I’d like to.

I’ve never been able to

walk into an H&M and buy

one of those slim fit black tee

that’d fit perfectly

but I’d like to.

I’ve never been able to

pick up women with charm

and tricks and take them

back to my place and use them

but I’d like to.

I’ve never been able to

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get drunk – plastered –

experience debauchery

and live off a few hours of sleep

with a hammering hangover

but I’d like to.

I’ve never been able to

put on a crisp white pointed collar

shirt with a Penguin tie and slave

as a pencil pusher,

and live the dream

but I’d like to

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Untitled Prompt # 14

“…and Ammaron said unto me: I perceive that thou art a sober child, and art quick to observe;”

—The Book of Mormon 1:2

Infinite summers

have ended in the Valley

as angry clouds cleanse

the smog and pollution

and bring a newfound hope

to those of us, those like me,

who tire from the yoke

bearing down, beating down.

The heat too intense. But to quell

The thirst inside floods my lungs,

drowning the clay from whence

I came, and turned it into mud.

Greg saw me drowning

and comforted me, requesting:

When you get home,

read “The Book of Mormon”,

chapter one. Particularly, verse two.

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Camping

All day on my mind,

bustas out there steezing while I gotta go

camp outside. Wish I had the hookup

for a pair of Nike

Dunks. 11 pm—

Everything’s closed. It’s starting to get cold

out here.

Four people ahead of me. One homeboy wears

Green Bay on his beanie. I peep his feet. Damn

those are dope

Hurraches. Buttery blue suede, white mid,

grey tab—

I can’t believe he has those! My game? One word:

joke. I could never afford anything that dope.

Well,

Kangols maybe but that’s so 80’s. If I go to Foot

Locker,

Lebrons go for 250. The temperature dropped,

midnight has come. Forrest green folding chair

my only comfort this

night. 9 more hours ‘till this board shop

opens. Open, open, open. It’ll be a couple hours whenmore

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people show up. Oh god, here are the resellers.

“Quit ruining it for the rest of us,” I’d like to spew butit’s just business.

Rats they are; nobody likes them. Down the line I seethe red Ragin Bulls Jordan V’s “Yo,

super sick, bro.” He nods, he’s not a hypebeast. Life ofan addict.

Things like this never end. I’ve dropped so much money it’s

ugly. When my folks found out I dropped 500 for apair of Air Force 1’s my dad’s face,

very intense. Scolding of a lifetime, they threatened tokick me out and take my

wallet. Good thing they never found out about thoselimited edition

X-Men Bapes. I got a pair of Cyclops on ice. When Iget these sneakers, it’ll be the

zenith of my collection. Now if only I can brave therest of the night.

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Records

In two banana boxes,

hold around 100

12.375 inch cardboard squares.

Abbey Road and Are You Experienced?.

The first and second albums you bought,

taught you to never pay the book price

ever.

Dopesmoker,

Sativa, limited to 3000 copies.

One track.

A plodding mammoth

that challenges the listener’s patience.

For one hour and ten minutes,

you know what it’s like

to be a stoner.

Dømkirke

Bought on a whim

because you were curious

what was behind that blue cover.

You learned what it was like

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to have drone tones hug you

when you traveled

to a new sonic dimension.

One of the Boys

Became a guilty pleasure

because if anybody found out

you loved pop music,

that would go against everything

you preached so vehemently.

The Fame Monster

Taught you the value

of patience.

When you have the opportunity

to buy it four years later,

you take it.

2112,

A work of art.

“Everything that’s ten bucks,

I’ll sell it to you for five,”

said the chubby guy.

So you gleefully bought 12 others

in that little shop in Tennessee.

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Panic!

A live record the hipsters never bothered.

Bootlegged from Deutschland,

the green screen-print ink still tacky

from a press god knows where.

With a grocery bag in hand,

you take out a couple new pieces

now added to your collection.

You pick one. Slip it out of the sleeves,

careful not to neglect one movement

because you know the dangers

of a scratched record. Take the black plate,

place it on the pad. Press play

and turn up the volume. Lay down

on your twin bed. Now be quiet

and prepare to listen.

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THEORY

My Life as Eraserhead

One must always hydrate

at the Empire Polo Club.

I learned this when I broke the covenant

I had with the bearing sun when I puked

in the mosh pit while Megadeth thrashed

away in the oven called Palm Springs

Hit on by two fat women,

I feared for my life

on the corner of Cedar and Shaw.

Short shorts, tank tops,

dimpled legs,

tits bulging out,

my fate sealed like Zeus

to Titan Cronus.

6th grade GATE student.

I fought that pale Irish kid.

That bearded bastard sucker punched me

while I was taking bites of my cold pizza.

But I got in a few good shots

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before long legged Mr. Bush

budged right in.

I never fought back for honor,

I just did it to entertain.

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Charles Bukowski Stopped By

My House One Time

Chuck walked past the screen door,

and into my living room. His glazed eyes stared

at me as he

took a sip from his glass

bottle of wine.

Slowly taking a drag from his cigarette,

Crater Face asked,

“Hey babe, you got any more booze?”

“No.” And for a second I actually thought

he’d reply,

but he walked back to the front door

outside.

“Well, shit,”

he said, walking down the patio steps.

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David Lynch is My Homeboy

Reading the Family Bible

clock ticking down for the time

when homeboy Lynch picks me up

in his jet black El Camino.

Don’t ask what year, but I can tell you

I’m tripping out, and the blood is rushing

in my body. Honk-honk. I shut the Bible

then scope out the window. Oh!

Homeboy limps to the door. David knocks twice.

I grab my wallet. We hop in, well, I hop in

that El Camino where David has an album

of songs dedicated to the sounds

of the hidden grotto out at Woodward park.

“It’s pretty legit,” he says. “It deals

with the matters of the flesh. No. not really.”

Cruising along Blackstone,

the popo out of sight. Potholes and potholes

and potholes and potholes from last nights “drizzle”,

the weatherman explained. It’s cool,

we enjoy the crappy hydraulics

as he turns up the beats. Hissing white noise

mostly take up the tape. He’s enjoying himself.

I’m looking at the faces on the sidewalk

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as the album of the year

litters down the block. “Bro, I need a sweater,”

as I realize what I needed before the next storm

rolled in. “Yeah, man. I feel you.

Let’s go to the Orchard Supply

and grab a few Carhartts. While we’re at it,

we can get some Little Caesar’s.”

David’s hair wisps in the Fresno air

while I start daydreaming, nodding to the beat.

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When We Travel Out of Space

I cannot see his face

as he takes my hand,

when we travel out of space.

“Wake up!” he rocks me, calmly states, “And brace

yourself.” Eyes groggy in muddled darkness,

I cannot see his face.

Groggy and streaming of mind, “Do I have time to lace

up and get ready?” “You won’t need them”, he says,

“when we travel out of space.”

Transfigured, full of light, I cannot help but trust hisgrace.

Intelligent and familiar, who is this man? But still,

I cannot see his face.

In a moment, faster than light, we keep our pace.

New colors, spectrums, I feel my new life divine

when we travel out of space.

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We stop on a whole new planet. He smiles and makesthis case:

“You’re home now.” and I humbly smirk and accept

I cannot see his face,

when we travel out of space.

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Microcosmos

Who is not to say that the atoms

in our cells

do their own dance

in their own time.

Living their own lives.

What, then, makes us different,

doing our own dance,

in our own time?

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Isaiah Rubio was born in Fresno, California and is pursuing two degrees in English and Communications. That is the plan at the moment. His go to quotes are “I have no idea what I’m doing” and “spaghetti” (Not an actual quote used). Although quiet and reserved, he does this out of respect for others who do not understand his affinity for absurdist art and surreal humour. When he is not singing to his dog or to himself, he sits in a chair and stares at a corner until he finds something interesting to do, like writing.