....

my heart hurts.

i took myself out to dinner....

......on october 5th, 2005 and had this conversation with pen & paper.


did i not bring you to the place?
boasting the finest women and most beautiful faces
where always the pauper will find a knights bed,
where they all shall bless your body,
by offering their only bread

we dined on our multi-course meals
we could never afford it, but
who should go without the sweetness of this?
the fifth course
most importantly
sweet

you, good friend who's hand was held into the promised land
hasty, I, to forget
it was promised, but not procured for you
i led you to the water, but could not make you thirsty

i am dining along tonight, searching for fare
between dramatic street lights
the weight of a body pressed to the bone
falls heavy on the foot, whose imposition is to carry me there

i'm terribly aware of this all
my hair is matted, just like the hair of a person who eats alone with their self
while the cigarettes spark from the tables of
stock white hands of young lovers chandelier dreams
I do always think
how different this should look
in the flesh
of the real thing

when I was still young, I would go to work with my mother
she was in the business of houses
and finding them for people
my mother and I would enter the still life houses,
the family absent for their display
I learned well the lives of so many,
through carefully arranged photographs and coffee table magazines

within a real home, there was still warmth
even though the family would leave
there were houses and there were homes
and in these borrowed places i soon learned
to distinguish the myth from the real thing

the soul from the speculation
the muse from the machine

and here too, I know the difference well
and that this is no time to be afraid
of manning this machine
for it must be faced to be defeated
finally

(yet)

my hair is still matted
and that fifth course has yet to come
my belly will be awaiting
for your thirst, yet to succumb

i

leather jackets, fashionishas, rebels without the rebellion

new york! ah, you pretentious bastard of poses.
you lied.

we're all glued to our fucking i-books
i-pod
i-sight
i-fucking
i-love
i-forgotmyself

i-wonderwhereconversationwent
i-gnorant to the blood beaneath your
i-skin

i-amgrowingtired

of this.

i-disspel you

trash culture
i-21stcenturytransgression

i-amleavingyou

goodbye.

immeasurable time

there is an immeasurable time
just beyond the minute hand
when you sit with the silence
that is always at your side

there are no more men
to bend down to or circumvent
there are no trains, no passer-bys
no flesh to fill your hands with
no smoke to obscure the fire

the skin upon my knee is still recovering
from a concrete slip battered street
that had branded my body new years eve
it's been well over two weeks
shouldn't i be healed by now?

i have reached the immeasurable time
the battles of a tolerable body
pale next to an intolerable mind

the effortless grace of universe
to tame our unkept houses
into the tapestries of a home
to harvest our immortal trouble
into the feastings for mortal souls

we dine with the greatest pleasure
in these immeasurable times

my tv dinner life

some days feel much like this

cold
compartmentalized
shaped into questionable forms
solid, yet only because frozen
not because of internal makeup

resembling something of content
nourishment
but devoid of mineral values

atleast it looks.....
almost right

i'll cook myself something delicious tomorrow
to make up for it

how to stay free?

When I was a girl and told not to do certain things,
it was my invitation to go right ahead, with the
extra exhilaration of not getting caught while doing so.

I'm still a little kid in that way.
The curiosity has kept me free.

Exhibit A: Letter to a good friend

Dec. 25th, 2005 5am

There is no sound here in a white-walled condominium, erect two stories high in destin, florida
earlier this evening there were lightening storms that blew apart the emptied skies
grandiose reminders of what little things we are beneath such beauties
but that was early evening, long passed now. it is quiet as i've ever heard now.

but there is space, infinite space, and it sounds like jet plane engines racing in my head
it's 5 am on a beckoning christmas day
in three hours my five year old brother will be eagerly awake with amazement and faith in the world
there will be magic for him when he wakes
gifts, good tidings, tactile charming toys and treats
he will be a happy boy
all will be right in his world
he has more than enough
and more reason to project into tomorrow
for he has love and magic.

i have more less wasted the past six hours using this machine
as a mode of education, enlightenment, spiritual and intellectual
stimulation. i've been viewing art, reading journals of strangers,
planning my future, if for no other reason than to not have to
think about my not so distant past. those ghosts with such fast
feet, always running past my present.

some people have a television, a gossip magazine, a dildo, a
basketball, an argument, a lover, kids, cigarettes, booze,
prayer, etc to keep themselves entertained and stimulated
.... and i've wasted away to merely needing a 5 pound box
of wire. shit. shit. shit.

and this little metal box of cables and power is as warm as
a puppy in my lap, but it feels ice cold somehow. it feels,
simply, wrong. i realize that life cannot be wrapped
up in such a convenient package, though it is deceivingly easy.
and vulgar in it's accessibility.

or maybe it's me, not the computer.

in any case, it led me to you. as i peruse through
your myspace profile looking at a photo of you with a strange
girl, my heart sinks. it's funny. cause i'm not entitled to you
any more than that girl, your best friend, or even your mother
or father. we're not entitled to anything at all, really, we just get
really lucky from time to time and get our good blessings, our
good moments, our laughs, or lovers, or friends, or foes....
but entitlement, nah, never. and i was amused at my innate,
instinctive heart drop to go reclaim you or something. without
any contemplation i immediately thought to myself.....
"must go get him and spend much time together and probably
do things that are affectionate and expressive because CERTAINLY
I care about him more than that girl in the photo, and we're here,
and alive, and this must be expressed. must get all the love out in
verbal, physical, tactile ways before it's retired, or i get too lazy, or
disillusioned or simply lost. "

and it's funny how what we say and what we do, most often are not the same
thing at all. even what we merely say to ourselves. i don't even know why i'm
telling you all of this, certainly such outbursts of instinct are usually kept to
one self, but I don't want to be that way. atleast not with you. i may be living
through a fucking computer screen temporarily, but it would be a tragedy to
start acting like one.

and it was refreshing for my mind and heart to conjure up such instinctive
claws of possession, because i don't believe in possession. it's like myself
was keeping myself in check. throwing a curve ball, and serving as a
reminder of the possibility of change, of deviation from what i thought i
was capable of, what i thought i knew of myself and my own inclinations.
that the certainty i had built upon knowing myself and myself in
conjunction with the ones I love, was no certainty at all. just as fragile as
the plates beneath the earth shifting and causing earthquakes, just a
possible as the ocean waters getting riled up and taking over dry land
- where they never should be. it was a little godly glitch telling me, hey
girl, you're just a kid, take it easy... you don't know shit....shut up...
sit down... and enjoy.

and you can laugh at your mortal self sometimes... when you're
pulled out of the illusion of body and ego and importance of this
skin, and observe your motions and predispositions. it's funny.
we're such ridiculous creatures. likes children given a kitchen full of
candy & cigarettes, and a living room full of explosives.
how disciplined can we be?

strange things have been happening. i've been living in a god damn
black hole. devoid of real joy or real sadness for the most part, just
this fucking numb. like the hum of those innocent imaginary jet
planes in my head.

i worry that my futile mind is not of the presence enough to carry
and nurture a significantly more capable soul. the push and pull of
skin vs. spirit, intellect vs. emotion, rationalization vs. truth....
.....damn it is exhausting.
And terrifying. Absolutely terrifying.

Cause even on a good day I'll probably sell myself out. I'll be practical
or responsible over being absolutely true. The skin, intellect and
ration win the majority of the time, leaving the spirit, emotion and
truth dangling in their ruins. And I have to stop this shit somehow.

Its just terrifying having such fire in your belly. Cause once everybody
knows about it, it is expected of you. Once everyone considers you
great or accomplished or valid, then it is expected of you ever more.
Yet, you are not in control of such great things. You're no more than
a finely painted vessel for that greatness to project through, you're
just the faucet and you have no idea if the water may be cut off at
some point, or if it'll keep running for all of time. it's daunting to
be accountable for that......to be responsible for something that is
far greater than you, just a man, will ever be.

how do we get around this?
do we just gag ourselves to prevent success from ever
happening......so we don't have to be looked up to as some great
source of creation..... or do we just go with what graces us and
hope to not get eaten alive by it's byproducts?

i dont know. i honestly dont. but i know this is why i avoid creation
as much as i can. its funny, cause somehow i'm still a creator. i just
create about .01% of what I'm capable of creating. i feel pretty
certain this is going against the winds of the universe, but
i'm not ready to be good at anything yet.

i just read over this letter and realized that i've gone on a tangent,
not having to do with you. and really, this had something to do
with you when it all started. but i guess this whole bit about the
creative masochism, actually goes hand in hand with the inadvertent
emotional actions that keep me less than present, and much colder
than such a warm heart ever should be. and i don't want to be that
way, either.

i've lost whatever circle of idea i had originally. should have finished
this when i started it (it was 5am, and i literally passed out from
exhaustion..... guess that's when the brain works best, when you've
wrenched all the formal thoughts out of it, and are only left with the
ones that are usually far back in the queue, much more mangled
and disoriented).

hope you're holidays are sublime.
see you soon.

love,
k

brothers

My sweet little brothers.

Carson is 5. Adam, 18. Carson loves to hang with his big brother and trail in his footsteps and hang out with his friends.
One of Adam's friend, Nickel, is from India.
Conversation:

Carson: So your friend Nickel is Indian right?
Adam: Yeah, he is.
Carson: So does he carry a bow and arrow?

Well of course!

wield

we wield our bodies like machine guns
pressed tight to the silver barrel cold

girl, where'd you learn to move like that?
we knew of these things before we had
skin to express them
we've just been waiting for the right time

painted things in carnival motifs
there are painted flowers
don't you dare try to water them

a blanket sky falls upon this southern city
to wash it of it's neon skin
the grand illusion of itself
in what it could have been

the kids go wild at night
as they await their fates to greet them
though they do not know this yet

it is sugar plums and kung-foo
it is love and it is certainty
the persuasive truth of all one knows
or needs to

i am a creator, above all else
and i know this, like a sickness, like a disease
that runs rampant in my veins
yet belies my mundane refusal hands

we are pushing against the parade
kneeling beneath this structure of all things
we have the lightest of all burdens
to keep us hopeful on safe knees