Walt Whitman Probably Wasn’t Gay: A Title Unrelated to the Blog

American Literature

We’re like 48 months into this semester and I do not have the mental capacity to continue writing 600 words every week. I almost completely forgot how to spell continue. I’ve been a high-functioning, brain-dead person for years so here goes my week 12? Blog.

This week in AMERICAN LIT class we missed a class Monday because a certain professor failed to come up with the reading, but that’s okay. Teachers are people too, and they sometimes don’t get things done on time. That’s great because then they understand why sometimes we can’t get everything done on time.

On Wednesday we looked at a whole bunch of things by Walt Whitman. One of his poems had to do with death and I can always relate to those. We also talked about “O Captain! My Captain!” and it reminded me that Robin Williams was the best person in the movie industry. Moving on, we got to talk about “The Wound-Dresser.” At the end, one of my fellow students inquired about the oddity of the last two lines. It had to do with kissing soldiers or something. Then I was like HAHA, and I opened my mouth to speak. (always regrettably) Anyway, it was something about being drunk and gay, and that looked bad as I wrote it, but I refuse to backspace. I would go on, but I am always concerned about using that word in the Christian community… “drunk.”

Friday, we talked about “Bartleby the Scrivener,” and I have never related to a character more in my life. “I would prefer not to.” That’s how I feel towards these blog posts. Staring at walls? Heck yeah. “Hey Kit! want to watch all the Star Wars movies with me and then talk about them for like the rest of our miserable lives?” Heck no.  (I don’t actually look at Stair Wars unfavorably)

When I was younger, I would watch all the Indiana Jones movies on repeat, and from that I gained an admiration for Harrison Ford. Who can’t like Harrison Ford? Anyway, (spoiler) HE DIES. He’s the only reason I bothered watching Stan Wars. Now it’s all over, and I won’t be buying sweaters of any kind.

For my next trick, I will talk about why Herman Melville’s story explains his own feelings. The dude wrote some good books. Then the dude wrote some bad books and got really upset. From then on, he didn’t want to endure the same pain, so he went off the grid. I would do the same thing, to be honest. However, I would do it well before I published a successful story. The key to never failing is never doing anything. Except that technically means I fail to do something, but that doesn’t count.

When I was four, I was out in the yard playing with my older sister. I think I was going to be a genius of some sort, and I was a pretty happy child. My sister had other plans. She picked up a baseball bat and swung it ferociously at my frontal lobe. This is for anyone that wants to know why I am the way I am. It was a brutal scene.

Now, I must be off because I shall make a food item called Ginger Nut. (For class) It’s like midnight and I have none of the ingredients, so I’ll have to pull an all-nighter and go to the store in morning. I’m like 13 words short so here’s my last quote from the readings.

“Why, how now? what next?” exclaimed Dr. Schleifer, “do no more writing?”

“No more.”