Hello reader and I hope, future pen-pal,
Please understand that I'm writing to you, not out of a need to communicate with just anyone, but out of a need to talk to you, dear reader. I know that we don't have a lot in common. I have red-hair and am just barely on a good day five feet nine inches tall. How tall are you and what is your name? I actually don't really care or expect for you to answer me, but I wanted you to know these things about me. I wanted you to know them because I know them, and now, I know that you know them.
I live here in a small town that really isn't that small, I've lived in smaller, but this small town is isolated. It's also a lot smaller than the last town I lived in and it's filled with people who like soda and are less attractive than me. It is also emotionally isolating, kind of like a peninsula. Maybe this isn't clear, I find peninsulas emotionally isolating for personal reasons.
Are you attractive? I'm not very attractive, but I at least don't have a hard time getting into my very large car (I have a very small car). I don't even drink soda. Some people call it pop here, which is something called synecdoche. Do you know what that word means? Part for the whole. There's a dirty joke in there somewhere, but also I don't have any friends here so they can't tell you about how I'm gesturing with my elbow right now. The joke isn't funny, but it's about execution. I'm killing it.
-DMK
2.20.2013
2.19.2013
Singularity.
It seems like the older we get the younger old age becomes.
You hear people say, and they say it too early, that the older they get, the harder it is to get up in the morning.
Maybe it's me, but as I reach the twilight of my youth it seems easier, constantly easier.
But when our bodies inevitably betray us, when the cracks come full and the light brings with it,
slow metabolisms and children, we'll know that our youth has left for something called middle age.
It could be me, but with each year that passes I don't see some promise that won't come true.
I see what I expected all along.
A bit a victim, it's the inevitable slow approach towards no-children, no-marriage,
The quantum singularity.
You hear people say, and they say it too early, that the older they get, the harder it is to get up in the morning.
Maybe it's me, but as I reach the twilight of my youth it seems easier, constantly easier.
But when our bodies inevitably betray us, when the cracks come full and the light brings with it,
slow metabolisms and children, we'll know that our youth has left for something called middle age.
It could be me, but with each year that passes I don't see some promise that won't come true.
I see what I expected all along.
A bit a victim, it's the inevitable slow approach towards no-children, no-marriage,
The quantum singularity.
2.12.2013
Words.
The thing about metaphors is that they can't light the burning candle of loneliness each night like a Hanukah that celebrates the holiday of successfully being unhappy?
It's kind of like how inside a book you can find friends and new worlds, but if you wrote a book about where you live and all the friends you have there, it'd be empty.
Words are like little record players each that tell a whole song of meaning to express your thoughts like a John Cage piece as they each turn on right after each other, and like a John Cage piece are obscure and performed in a remote Oregon forest and nobody is listening.
Punctuation is something nobody cares about anymore unless they do. Not me though, I'd do anything for this period of my life to be over.
It's kind of like how inside a book you can find friends and new worlds, but if you wrote a book about where you live and all the friends you have there, it'd be empty.
Words are like little record players each that tell a whole song of meaning to express your thoughts like a John Cage piece as they each turn on right after each other, and like a John Cage piece are obscure and performed in a remote Oregon forest and nobody is listening.
Punctuation is something nobody cares about anymore unless they do. Not me though, I'd do anything for this period of my life to be over.
2.08.2013
Rhiannon
Is it fan-fiction if we write new verses to our favorite songs?
Rhiannon rings like a paper cup.
Or does it have more prestige?
But he wear wears his hair tied in a small bow at the back.
Can I pull off a leather jacket, if that's the career I choose?
Eugene, Eugene, Eugene
Rhiannon rings like a paper cup.
Or does it have more prestige?
But he wear wears his hair tied in a small bow at the back.
Can I pull off a leather jacket, if that's the career I choose?
Eugene, Eugene, Eugene
2.06.2013
*Footnotes
*Fingers probably represents poorly the choice of a career in letters. Whether it be a pen or a key board, it's a distinction drawn between work which requires the nimble fingers and the soft palm, or the hand unified as one against the written word, grasping wholly at rake and hammer in production, not contemplation of work not our own.
* I guess it's like a mechanical heart then. It's your mechanical heart.
* I guess it's like a mechanical heart then. It's your mechanical heart.
Lakoff.
Imagine going to work and coming home. Since you don't know anybody it's just you and your damn cat. I'm alright, but I'd be the first to admit that just me is a bit much. And I've never claimed to be a cat person, they aren't nothing, but they're barely something.
People have a tendency to group their lives into chapters. It's disgusting. It's so easy. It's Velveeta cheese. We like it and sometimes we catch ourselves doing it. Sometimes we don't catch ourselves and now we're obese with the chapters of our lives and we're not even thinking about what's in the silver package. We just cut it open and read the words.
I'm guilty of this pleasure. There is a chapter which I call my lost year, which isn't fair to my lost year, but if you've ever tried being unemployed anywhere near Sacramento, you'd be tempted to do the same. You'd want to lose that year, that Sacramento.
It's obvious which chapters come up, most frequently grouped in fours: high school, middle school, college, the mid-twenties when I did a million drug pipes and musicianed my hair long and bang bro-ed (we also would have accepted bang-bussed, or respected inately) chicks with a lack of respect and self loathing. There were those "chapters."
I like to think of each period of my life as these precious drops of water slipping through my fingers. Drops of water that I'm going to need to sustain myself through the desert ahead. I should be angry that I can't hold them all, and that I can't hold them for long. Just like you should be angry if you ever find yourself in a desert without water because instead of canteen you decide, "Fuck it, I'll just use my fingers." I should be angry that I've dropped water some near Sacramento. I should be angry about Sacramento. I should be angry about Sacramento and my choice of fingers.*
And yet the danger here is that when we're unhappy with a period in our lives we anticipate the end of that chapter, flipping ahead and counting the pages, just skimming ours and not taking in the story. We can look back with contempt at those wasted lines. We can be wont for a different story, but really, we just have to accept it and realize that life isn't a metaphor. It's just some stuff you have to make work.*
People have a tendency to group their lives into chapters. It's disgusting. It's so easy. It's Velveeta cheese. We like it and sometimes we catch ourselves doing it. Sometimes we don't catch ourselves and now we're obese with the chapters of our lives and we're not even thinking about what's in the silver package. We just cut it open and read the words.
I'm guilty of this pleasure. There is a chapter which I call my lost year, which isn't fair to my lost year, but if you've ever tried being unemployed anywhere near Sacramento, you'd be tempted to do the same. You'd want to lose that year, that Sacramento.
It's obvious which chapters come up, most frequently grouped in fours: high school, middle school, college, the mid-twenties when I did a million drug pipes and musicianed my hair long and bang bro-ed (we also would have accepted bang-bussed, or respected inately) chicks with a lack of respect and self loathing. There were those "chapters."
I like to think of each period of my life as these precious drops of water slipping through my fingers. Drops of water that I'm going to need to sustain myself through the desert ahead. I should be angry that I can't hold them all, and that I can't hold them for long. Just like you should be angry if you ever find yourself in a desert without water because instead of canteen you decide, "Fuck it, I'll just use my fingers." I should be angry that I've dropped water some near Sacramento. I should be angry about Sacramento. I should be angry about Sacramento and my choice of fingers.*
And yet the danger here is that when we're unhappy with a period in our lives we anticipate the end of that chapter, flipping ahead and counting the pages, just skimming ours and not taking in the story. We can look back with contempt at those wasted lines. We can be wont for a different story, but really, we just have to accept it and realize that life isn't a metaphor. It's just some stuff you have to make work.*
Hot
"Still smoke?"
Curtains rustled as wind carried each letter heavy and downward from the hotel balcony.
"I never did."
"These are my last cigarettes. My last pack."
The thump against palm so routine almost lost it's robotic touch, it's ape-like impulse.
"I never liked your smoking, it's one of the reasons I left. You never noticed, you always offered, but I never accepted and you ended up smoking the entire pack."
"Well, maybe it feels good to put your vices on someone else."
A car's loose muffler chug chug chugged and sputtered floors below, and it was hot and cold all at once.
"This was a mistake, coming here."
Curtains rustled as wind carried each letter heavy and downward from the hotel balcony.
"I never did."
"These are my last cigarettes. My last pack."
The thump against palm so routine almost lost it's robotic touch, it's ape-like impulse.
"I never liked your smoking, it's one of the reasons I left. You never noticed, you always offered, but I never accepted and you ended up smoking the entire pack."
"Well, maybe it feels good to put your vices on someone else."
A car's loose muffler chug chug chugged and sputtered floors below, and it was hot and cold all at once.
"This was a mistake, coming here."
2.04.2013
Keep it Tight
"Call the locksmith, because I don't want to be in love anymore." -Lock and Key, Klymaxx
If I were that band, and I want nothing more really, I would have had asked for three x's. I'm not satisfied with the pluralization of x. It's really greatly unsatisfying, but the focus here is the double entendre. All-female 80's pop band merges sex and sass, or is it SEXXX and SASSS?
I don't know what drives my love of these pop bands. Female vocalists, tight over-production, and please, oh, please, bring it electronic drums. Now are we talking about clap machines right now? We are talking about clap machines right now. Just listen- Somewhere a clap-machine is clapping quietly in the forest right now. It's probably clapping some baby owls to sleep. Clapping a tight serenade to some pan piper napping with goat legs fist pumping to the moon, at half time. Zamphir himself would put down his bamboo and twill strapped shoots to listen to the clap-machine. For this image to work you have to be aware of Zamphir as one of the most famous pan-pipers. Did you know that reference? He also has goat legs now, or at least, definitely a mustache. It's a new thing.
In threes remember. Always in threes.
Clap.
Clap, Clap, Clap.
2.03.2013
Torture.
There was this perfect night some years ago, maybe four now. I stood on a stage in a basement and told real stories from a period in my life called college. I've never been one to structure my life into periods, or chapters, or whatever, but it always seems to end up that way. And like a good college boy, my experience was founded firmly on nothing. On that vastly unstable ground that is change.
So I told stories about falling in love and learning about parasites. I sang Canadian a capella from the '90s and I read what some might call Poetry. Writing which almost all came from this font of inspiration, this b-log. And people laughed. We broke down that 4th wall and a crowd of 20 or 30 people laughed. I laughed too, because when people are laughing you should laugh too, or it looks weird. In my experience if you aren't laughing, you are probably going to be punched in the stomach fairly soon.
A few months later an acquaintance started up a conversation with, "Oh, I saw you do stand-up once. It was pretty funny." Having no filter for honesty, I replied with "It wasn't stand-up, just true stories from life that everyone laughed at."
"I know, but it was funny!"
Anyway, honesty has been a big part of my life just as much as obfuscation has been. It comes with being just smart enough to never really be honest with anyone. It comes with being afraid.
I was trying to keep myself busy this weekend in Coos Bay, Oregon, because I don't have any friends. I shouldered a kayak my Dad helped me find to my shoulder, and paddled away. Have you ever gotten bored during an athletic activity? In the middle of a large body of salt water, birds that I could name making their bird noises and flitting about on that rare day in February when the sun comes out and the temperature is about 60 degrees?
The indication right now is that if my boots aren't on and I'm not out the door 20 minutes after I'm awake, I'm not running up to par. My twitter personality has morphed. It's my gauge of self. A screaming ego, or is it id? Anyway it says those feelings I really feel. Those lonely feelings. I hate it down here. I really can't say anymore right now. It's torture and I can't wait for the day that I have another opportunity elsewhere.
-DMK
So I told stories about falling in love and learning about parasites. I sang Canadian a capella from the '90s and I read what some might call Poetry. Writing which almost all came from this font of inspiration, this b-log. And people laughed. We broke down that 4th wall and a crowd of 20 or 30 people laughed. I laughed too, because when people are laughing you should laugh too, or it looks weird. In my experience if you aren't laughing, you are probably going to be punched in the stomach fairly soon.
A few months later an acquaintance started up a conversation with, "Oh, I saw you do stand-up once. It was pretty funny." Having no filter for honesty, I replied with "It wasn't stand-up, just true stories from life that everyone laughed at."
"I know, but it was funny!"
Anyway, honesty has been a big part of my life just as much as obfuscation has been. It comes with being just smart enough to never really be honest with anyone. It comes with being afraid.
I was trying to keep myself busy this weekend in Coos Bay, Oregon, because I don't have any friends. I shouldered a kayak my Dad helped me find to my shoulder, and paddled away. Have you ever gotten bored during an athletic activity? In the middle of a large body of salt water, birds that I could name making their bird noises and flitting about on that rare day in February when the sun comes out and the temperature is about 60 degrees?
The indication right now is that if my boots aren't on and I'm not out the door 20 minutes after I'm awake, I'm not running up to par. My twitter personality has morphed. It's my gauge of self. A screaming ego, or is it id? Anyway it says those feelings I really feel. Those lonely feelings. I hate it down here. I really can't say anymore right now. It's torture and I can't wait for the day that I have another opportunity elsewhere.
-DMK
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