she uses chalkboards in her classroom, not dry erase boards, because she believes that inhaling chalk is much more natural than, say, inhaling chemicals.
Blood in my ears. Chalkboard. Ringing in my head. Chalkboard. You wrote things and scratched at the black with your white utensil like a madness had overcome you. I can’t take it. I can’t take it. Chalkboard.
The scratching of chalk is too loud on my hungover ears. I am sick of this shit and sick to my stomach. Mr. Thorp is droning on about metaphysics and I am struggling to keep my breakfast down. And that’s when it happens. The door is flung open, and he stumbles in, dressed in black sweats and a grey shirt, hair a mess, this beautiful stranger who might as well be an angel.
Raising my hand was probably the worst decision. As I made my way up to the chalkboard, I could feel the class glaring at me from behind. It had only been two weeks at this new school and everyone already hated me. But this was the sprint to the finish line. With all of my family’s moving around, I had to stay perfect at every school if I was ever going to get into MIT.
One time when I was in sixth grade, I was trying to get my friend to tell me her middle name. She was really embarassed aboout it, but eventually someone who knew it wrote Emily on the board. It was her middle name.
Remember, there was a thingy that was used to draw a bunch of lines parallel to each other? Like a holder that held maybe six pieces of chalk? I think it was used for drawing music staffs on the board. Maybe also for grids and graphs.
I tried using one a few times. The chalk always broke or fell off, and the lines I made were all jagged with gaps…
It took real talent to use such a highly complicated device.
I guess I wasn’t meant to be a music or math teacher (yeah that’s why… the chalk…)
The boy drew a scary face on the chalkboard. Then he drew a ghost. And a skeleton. And a bat. It’s a vampire bat he thought. So he drew a wolf and as he was starting to draw a graveyard, the bat started to wiggle. He shrieked.
Chalkboards are fun to write on.. I guess. Idrk what to write about this. In third grade I helped out a teacher and i was given a free pack of chalk and a mini board. I was happy . uhm. i like to draw with chalk? okay yeahuhm bai.
Childhood. The promise of a long hot summer, the smell of fresh flowers and the old fashioned scent of my beloved teacher. Prizes in sweets, guessing games and writing in different colours chalk on the chalkboard. Sweet, sweet memories.
Chalkboard… Spring Awakening. All that’s known… I love that song. I effing love it. I love Melchior. He makes me think of… Nevermind . That musical. All of it. I love.
sex changes everything. you are a jerk. friends? no you disrespect me. I could love you. I am mad at you. why are we friends. are we friends? i could love you. so sexy and smart.
Long days staring at the chalkboard praying for hometime..melting crayons on th radiator and making patterns on my hand and any other surface..always struggling to concentrate when colours flowed and dreams flew outside the window and inside my head. After all surely there are ways to better rngage a young imagination than forced internment.
The chalk screeched down the board on the last letter, scratching deep inside his ears with a dying whine and it hurt and lingered, just like the ache in both his arms and the cramp in his dusty hands from clenching the chalk too tight. The chalk was barely a stump and now it was in pieces as he chucked it at the floor in a final burst of temper, then slumped out into the corridor. He glanced at the chalkboard– “I must not break noses” repeated ad nauseum– and rubbed his knuckles. If pricks wanted to mess with him because he looked like a girl then he was gonna mess up their face.
The teacher continues to scribble on the chalkboard.
Why do I care?
You are the only thing on my mind.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
About our love.
About your death.
I saw the chalkboard with the two simple words. Quiz today. I sat down in my chair, and started to look over the notes for the last time. I knew I was going to fail but it didn’t matter. At this point who cares if I graduate now. It’s not like this will make a difference.
Whenever the school day ended on a positive note the teacher’s pets got to dust the chalkboard erasers outside. When it ended on a negative note the teacher dusted the bad students.
He put down is pen, tired
“Why do we have to do this?” he asked, tired and frustrated
“Its for your own good, James” replied Mrs Lassetsky ever so patiently ” You have to learn how to behave”
James looked down, ashamed.
The screeching sound the tires made reminded him of nails on a chalkboard. Although it gave him much more fright. The bending sound of the metal as the car flipped over and over reminded him of the small figure that was supposed to be sitting next to him compliantly. After the noise had subsided he listened for the faint reply of her that he hopefully expected. It never came.
aslında bunun tam olarak ne olduğunu anlamadım ama yazmak için bu kadar az zamanımım olması sanki ölmeden önce son sözlerimi söylüyormuşum gibi hissettirdi. yarım dakika sonra öleceğimi bilsem acaba ne söylerdim ki? galiba oh be falan derdim. düşünün artık bu gün öylesine sıkıldım. hayatı sevmiyorum. nokta.
teacher says it’s okay to go up to the board and write the equations out as clearly as possible. The board is too high for me to reach. I am rather small, you see. For me to use chalk is also another matter, which needs further elaboration. Chalk is more for eating, rather than writing.
The chalkboard in my dreams was always clean, never a bit of chalk on it. When my teacher went up to write on it, I knew that what he put down on there was as close to revealing his soul to use as he would ever get. I miss those beautiful days of school.
One day the teacher wrote on the chalkboard, ” we are only healthy to the extent that our ideals are humane”. The students looked puzzled. She proceeded to explain to them a leasson they would remember for the rest of their lives.
The teacher had been divorced for two years now, and the chalkboard had become scratched with her feverish drawings and equations. The principal called her in and told her that she would have a whiteboard from then on. She hated the smell of the pens. She shook her head.
“Leave me the chalkboard,” she begged. “It’s the last remnant I’ve got from the life I no longer have.”
So much for poetics. It didn’t mean anything to him.
Chalkboards, whiteboards, school shit.
I watch you squirm in your seat, waiting to ask if we can skip.
I watch your fingers lightly tapping the desk with impatience.
Eyeing the clock, the door, the floor, the walls of your confinement.
You turn around and pout. Bottom lip sticking out like a baby.
Your eyes sparkle when I say, “Stop being cute, I love you.”
Our hands meet and connect ’til the end of the class.
We run out of the tower together, laughing and tripping over our own feet.
Our teachers had chalkboards when I was at school. They have white boards and interactive things now But my grandson has a chalkboard. he drew a picture of me on it. I’ll treasure it. One day he may be a Picasso.
Like fingernails on a chalkboard—that’s how I hear the voices on some TV shows. Seinfeld, South Park, Family Guy—those ware the worst offenders to me. But they can pop up anywhere. Commercials are often excruciating to listen to.
my mind raced as i kept reaching into the corners of my mind “i have to get this right!” i muttered to myself. “i have to prove that im not as dumb as every one thinks!” i gently tapped my chalk against the chalkboard before i finally started to move it across the surface.
She carelessly dropped the chalk into the tray and looked around the room. The four chalkboards that lined the walls were covered in rows of “I will not throw gum at my fellow students.” “Really,” she muttered, “It’s not like I meant to get caught putting the gum in her hair.”
He stared at the wall for a moment. It was probably one of the strangest things he’s come across in his sister’s house, but somehow it really suits her and her husband. Their busy way of life and the twins running around everywhere. He snatched up a piece of the chalk, tossing it into the air before snatching it again, adding his own little mark onto the chalkboard wall.
Miss Armack, the new 2nd grade teacher, wrote five words on the chalkboard: How to Write a Book. The students all looked confused. One girl raised her hand and waited for Miss Armack to call on her. “Yes, June?” June lowered her hand, “I thought we were learning about animals in the Pacific Ocean?” Miss Armack smiled.
i just sat there staring blankly at the chalkboard in front of me. “what does that say?” i asked blankly. the women in front of me answered in an equally blank tone. “your life” i didn’t know how to react, as that seemed impossible/
My teacher went to the chalk board and held up some chalk. she told me to come up the board and write in the stream of consciences. I ended up in the office….
The screeching sound made me sick. I just wanted it to stop, but I knew it couldn’t for the school day was not nearly over. The teacher just kept on writing and I kept staring out into space, not comprehending the chaos going on around me. Students threw paper wads, chatted with their friends, and even some who were actually determined to learn something, listened to the teacher.
A blank, old fashioned green chalkboard. On the railing sits battered erasers with chalk coated all over it. The chalk is nearly a stub because of how much it is used.
she uses chalkboards in her classroom, not dry erase boards, because she believes that inhaling chalk is much more natural than, say, inhaling chemicals.
i think she has a point.
first grade lessons of spelling and simple addition, sharp noises and dusty dictations in front of the class, swiftly replaced by dry erase boards
Blood in my ears. Chalkboard. Ringing in my head. Chalkboard. You wrote things and scratched at the black with your white utensil like a madness had overcome you. I can’t take it. I can’t take it. Chalkboard.
The scratching of chalk is too loud on my hungover ears. I am sick of this shit and sick to my stomach. Mr. Thorp is droning on about metaphysics and I am struggling to keep my breakfast down. And that’s when it happens. The door is flung open, and he stumbles in, dressed in black sweats and a grey shirt, hair a mess, this beautiful stranger who might as well be an angel.
Raising my hand was probably the worst decision. As I made my way up to the chalkboard, I could feel the class glaring at me from behind. It had only been two weeks at this new school and everyone already hated me. But this was the sprint to the finish line. With all of my family’s moving around, I had to stay perfect at every school if I was ever going to get into MIT.
One time when I was in sixth grade, I was trying to get my friend to tell me her middle name. She was really embarassed aboout it, but eventually someone who knew it wrote Emily on the board. It was her middle name.
chalkboard? Hmmm….
Are those even used anymore? ;)
Remember, there was a thingy that was used to draw a bunch of lines parallel to each other? Like a holder that held maybe six pieces of chalk? I think it was used for drawing music staffs on the board. Maybe also for grids and graphs.
I tried using one a few times. The chalk always broke or fell off, and the lines I made were all jagged with gaps…
It took real talent to use such a highly complicated device.
I guess I wasn’t meant to be a music or math teacher (yeah that’s why… the chalk…)
The boy drew a scary face on the chalkboard. Then he drew a ghost. And a skeleton. And a bat. It’s a vampire bat he thought. So he drew a wolf and as he was starting to draw a graveyard, the bat started to wiggle. He shrieked.
Chalkboards are fun to write on.. I guess. Idrk what to write about this. In third grade I helped out a teacher and i was given a free pack of chalk and a mini board. I was happy . uhm. i like to draw with chalk? okay yeahuhm bai.
Childhood. The promise of a long hot summer, the smell of fresh flowers and the old fashioned scent of my beloved teacher. Prizes in sweets, guessing games and writing in different colours chalk on the chalkboard. Sweet, sweet memories.
Chalkboard… Spring Awakening. All that’s known… I love that song. I effing love it. I love Melchior. He makes me think of… Nevermind . That musical. All of it. I love.
sex changes everything. you are a jerk. friends? no you disrespect me. I could love you. I am mad at you. why are we friends. are we friends? i could love you. so sexy and smart.
“I remember them from school – the teachers writing on them for the class assignment. They were great!”
“Chalkboards – chalk simply everywhere! I prefer the digital era myslef!”
Long days staring at the chalkboard praying for hometime..melting crayons on th radiator and making patterns on my hand and any other surface..always struggling to concentrate when colours flowed and dreams flew outside the window and inside my head. After all surely there are ways to better rngage a young imagination than forced internment.
The chalk screeched down the board on the last letter, scratching deep inside his ears with a dying whine and it hurt and lingered, just like the ache in both his arms and the cramp in his dusty hands from clenching the chalk too tight. The chalk was barely a stump and now it was in pieces as he chucked it at the floor in a final burst of temper, then slumped out into the corridor. He glanced at the chalkboard– “I must not break noses” repeated ad nauseum– and rubbed his knuckles. If pricks wanted to mess with him because he looked like a girl then he was gonna mess up their face.
The teacher continues to scribble on the chalkboard.
Why do I care?
You are the only thing on my mind.
I can’t stop thinking about you.
About our love.
About your death.
I saw the chalkboard with the two simple words. Quiz today. I sat down in my chair, and started to look over the notes for the last time. I knew I was going to fail but it didn’t matter. At this point who cares if I graduate now. It’s not like this will make a difference.
Whenever the school day ended on a positive note the teacher’s pets got to dust the chalkboard erasers outside. When it ended on a negative note the teacher dusted the bad students.
He put down is pen, tired
“Why do we have to do this?” he asked, tired and frustrated
“Its for your own good, James” replied Mrs Lassetsky ever so patiently ” You have to learn how to behave”
James looked down, ashamed.
The screeching sound the tires made reminded him of nails on a chalkboard. Although it gave him much more fright. The bending sound of the metal as the car flipped over and over reminded him of the small figure that was supposed to be sitting next to him compliantly. After the noise had subsided he listened for the faint reply of her that he hopefully expected. It never came.
aslında bunun tam olarak ne olduğunu anlamadım ama yazmak için bu kadar az zamanımım olması sanki ölmeden önce son sözlerimi söylüyormuşum gibi hissettirdi. yarım dakika sonra öleceğimi bilsem acaba ne söylerdim ki? galiba oh be falan derdim. düşünün artık bu gün öylesine sıkıldım. hayatı sevmiyorum. nokta.
When did chalkboards become whiteboards and whiteboards are now smart-boards or Promethean boards or interactive white boards?
teacher says it’s okay to go up to the board and write the equations out as clearly as possible. The board is too high for me to reach. I am rather small, you see. For me to use chalk is also another matter, which needs further elaboration. Chalk is more for eating, rather than writing.
The chalkboard in my dreams was always clean, never a bit of chalk on it. When my teacher went up to write on it, I knew that what he put down on there was as close to revealing his soul to use as he would ever get. I miss those beautiful days of school.
just learn it. see it. learn. discover. forget. then learn. breathe it. forget. then learn. learn.
One day the teacher wrote on the chalkboard, ” we are only healthy to the extent that our ideals are humane”. The students looked puzzled. She proceeded to explain to them a leasson they would remember for the rest of their lives.
1st grade…Mrs Porterfield told me to write my work on the chalkboard. I rested my book on the chalk tray, but it fell off.
The teacher had been divorced for two years now, and the chalkboard had become scratched with her feverish drawings and equations. The principal called her in and told her that she would have a whiteboard from then on. She hated the smell of the pens. She shook her head.
“Leave me the chalkboard,” she begged. “It’s the last remnant I’ve got from the life I no longer have.”
So much for poetics. It didn’t mean anything to him.
Chalkboards, whiteboards, school shit.
I watch you squirm in your seat, waiting to ask if we can skip.
I watch your fingers lightly tapping the desk with impatience.
Eyeing the clock, the door, the floor, the walls of your confinement.
You turn around and pout. Bottom lip sticking out like a baby.
Your eyes sparkle when I say, “Stop being cute, I love you.”
Our hands meet and connect ’til the end of the class.
We run out of the tower together, laughing and tripping over our own feet.
Our teachers had chalkboards when I was at school. They have white boards and interactive things now But my grandson has a chalkboard. he drew a picture of me on it. I’ll treasure it. One day he may be a Picasso.
Like fingernails on a chalkboard—that’s how I hear the voices on some TV shows. Seinfeld, South Park, Family Guy—those ware the worst offenders to me. But they can pop up anywhere. Commercials are often excruciating to listen to.
my mind raced as i kept reaching into the corners of my mind “i have to get this right!” i muttered to myself. “i have to prove that im not as dumb as every one thinks!” i gently tapped my chalk against the chalkboard before i finally started to move it across the surface.
She carelessly dropped the chalk into the tray and looked around the room. The four chalkboards that lined the walls were covered in rows of “I will not throw gum at my fellow students.” “Really,” she muttered, “It’s not like I meant to get caught putting the gum in her hair.”
He stared at the wall for a moment. It was probably one of the strangest things he’s come across in his sister’s house, but somehow it really suits her and her husband. Their busy way of life and the twins running around everywhere. He snatched up a piece of the chalk, tossing it into the air before snatching it again, adding his own little mark onto the chalkboard wall.
Miss Armack, the new 2nd grade teacher, wrote five words on the chalkboard: How to Write a Book. The students all looked confused. One girl raised her hand and waited for Miss Armack to call on her. “Yes, June?” June lowered her hand, “I thought we were learning about animals in the Pacific Ocean?” Miss Armack smiled.
i just sat there staring blankly at the chalkboard in front of me. “what does that say?” i asked blankly. the women in front of me answered in an equally blank tone. “your life” i didn’t know how to react, as that seemed impossible/
My teacher went to the chalk board and held up some chalk. she told me to come up the board and write in the stream of consciences. I ended up in the office….
screech!! Uh school is a night mare!! I dont think i can make it! Why dear god why do i have have SUMMER SCHOOL!!!
The screeching sound made me sick. I just wanted it to stop, but I knew it couldn’t for the school day was not nearly over. The teacher just kept on writing and I kept staring out into space, not comprehending the chaos going on around me. Students threw paper wads, chatted with their friends, and even some who were actually determined to learn something, listened to the teacher.
A blank, old fashioned green chalkboard. On the railing sits battered erasers with chalk coated all over it. The chalk is nearly a stub because of how much it is used.