mama's students are reading Light Boxes; mama's students are reading Light Boxes some are tot digging it & some are confused & some are sleeping & some of them missed tiger transit... mama was not tot digging all the academic essays so she gave her kiddies the choice of a creative option. mama asked her students to re-write a scene from Jane Eyre a la Light Boxes to marry Bronte and Jones (sorry, Jones' wife, sorry dead Bronte)...
this is mama's turn-on of the week cos mama likes to laugh just like her balaclavaed babies.
this is what was bornded and mama loves it & mama laughed out loud & it was good.
mama's student's JE
There is something STRANGE walking the halls here in Thornfield.
It is probably GRACE POOLE who haunts my dreams like a ghost which vanishes into the night
Rochester says to himself quietly
I do not like this way of life. Secrets cannot be hidden forever. They must come OUT eventually. Nothing can be kept locked away for eternity…or can it?
Grace Poole’s bread pudding recipe:
1. 0% part bread mixed in with 100% gin
2. A bottle of gin
3. Gin flavoring
4. Extract of gin
5. Gin topping
6. A honey gin glaze (substitute gin for the honey)
I do not like the smell of smoke. It came that night after the scream through Thornfield hall. FIRE! Water followed to douse the flame on Rochester’s bed and then there was darkness again…Rochester left the room to take care of matters on the THIRD FLOOR
I never have liked the third floor of my house… maybe I should have it remodeled or better yet destroyed. I hate floors taller than two stories anyway.
Whats the big deal? Just a small fire in Rochester’s bed. No problem at all. It happens all the time. You say Jane that you heard a scream? Stop worrying about screams, start worrying when you don’t hear any screams in the night.
A list that fell out of Grace Poole’s pocket
1. Wake up
2. Go to the THIRD floor
3. Drink some gin
4. Drink some gin
5. Drink some gin
6. Drink some gin
7. Drink some gin
8. Drink some gin
9. Drink some gin
10. Wake up
mirrors. They reflect who I am not. I am not beautiful. I am not Blanche Ingram. I should lock myself away in on the THIRD floor where nobody else resides. But the ghosts of Thornfield.