old thoughts of school

It's funny this dry dust of classroom, the misty windows, the grey sills.
And teacher, a slob like you, with his loosely-held "authority", in his meaningless shirt and trousers, starch-washed, as meaningless as your uniform.
It's strange the primitive knifemarks of graffiti on the desk, the anxious scrawl. It's strange how many things go wrong from the teacher or tutor's mouth to your ear, how much is misunderstood or forgotten, how the vain preambles of language result so often in nothing.
What a void is education. It's energy dissipated and ruined, cast forward into the classroom, trampled over, wasted. It's the bleak and dissatisfied teacher, that clumsy, fleshy human just like you, with the same arrogance and emptiness. Formalised education is just a ritual played out for ritual reasons.