don't be shy. mi casapage es su casapage.
i don't want this page to feel lonely, so you can read some words here. when they pack up and move out of the homepage to start their e-lives elsewhere, i'll let you know.
note: i'm still playing with format, words, texture. laugh at me, please. it only makes me stronger.
hawt soundz 4 kool earz
(if you can't hear it, perhaps your ears need to get kooler first)
i always struggle with where i should start
that's silly, i've done it, ta-da.
thank you for coming to my fred talk
okay i googled it just now, and the consensus is
"the best place to start is the beginning"
(from the people who brought you
"we all put our pants on one leg at a time")
ah, hashtag relateable, right?
platitudes and gratitudes and soccer mom attitudes
alright, you can live love laugh at me here but i'm serious
what's the phobia for when you have a crippling fear of starting fresh?
because i don't get scared of almost anything
(i've driven in houston, don't at me)
but what i'm doing now, with the careful hunt and pecking
in the service of making pixels light up
to form the shape of a coherent monologue?
it sends chills down my slouch-ridden spine
my fingers hover over blank pages, like a sword of damocles
(what i really need is a mightier pen)
i spend so much time anguishing over the best way to keep a clean slate,
i never even get it dirty in the first place
i have never started a writing project
that i didn't like better mint-in-box
i could harp on about it but i'm more of a glockenspiel guy;
chime in if this sounds familiar
my dilemma:
i want so badly to be a responsible webpage owner
but i face choice paralysis trying tp figure out
which direction i want to go with it
my solution:
burn the html to the ground every six months
so i can claim the homepageowner's insurance
and move across country to step three profit??
bonus lifehack:
you'll never have to write the obligatory
awkward and transparent "sorry for the long hiatus,
school break next week, more coming soon!" blog post
if you pretend you didn't exist
so why bother?
(i don't hear anybody asking)
save yourself the embarrassment and just quit while you're ahead
(they didn't say)
nobody knows who you are, you lucky bastard
(a whisper on the wind)
why not keep it that way?
(somebody standing directly in the middle of my skull)
zoom out with me, if you will,
until we've gotten out of my head
(if only it were so ctrl-minus simple)
and back into the internet at large
and it is very large, indeed, but i know my way around
and can hang ten with the best of them
i've been a proud printmaster card-carrying netizen my entire life
i've seen the web done well,
and poorly,
and (worst of all)
unremarkably
and i've gotta say, from what i've witnessed lately,
i'm not disappointed
- just mad
in the span of my millennial lifetime,
the world wild west has become a concrete corporate wasteland
community gardens and childhood parks are easily paved over
family-owned bodegas bought out, rebranded, and shuttered at a loss
generations of graffiti,
entire lineages of street art powerwashed from existence
it's hard to make a mark when everybody else is leaning out their apartment windows
and yelling that they're more unique and marketable than the idiot next door
honestly,
it's almost too boring and sad to be dystopian
but the prophecied time has arrived and i'm so ready to break free of my infinite loop of "baby's first hello world" posting
if somebody could just point me towards the break glass in case of big brother emergency sledgehammer, i can get started
...that's the thing about bootstraps, though; somebody else better be doing the pulling because the physics of doing it yourself? not looking very good
so instead, i'll pick up my glockenspiel mallet and start chipping away at the glass box i've put around myself
nobody goes to a museum to look at a blank notebook on a pedestal
an empty spiralbound serves only to teach the history of dead trees, sacrificed in vain to save you from your firebreathing precalc teacher
i am scared of blank spaces (don't even bring taylor swift into this)
i've spent so long staring at them that they are a magic eye puzzle to me, and i've never seen the dolphin, sorry
there's so much i could've done instead, like brush up on my german, organize a bookshelf, do some dishes - why are there always dishes?
but life is not made up of blank pages
by the time you think you've found a place to start, oops it's covered, flip the page, try again (again, again)
there is value in the dirty converse, mossy bricks, and accumulated filth of life experience
i can't start on purpose to save my life, but somehow i already have, and forgotten that i could
i've written when nobody is looking, scribbled where nobody cares, hummed a tune that nobody caught on tape
i can take that clean pristine starched jean notebook from the pedestal
and replace it with the hundreds of pages of dirty, crumpled, ripped, scribbled out, crumb-covered words which i already wrote
and some of them are even a little good if i do say so myself
(i usually do)
so to wrap up (and believe you me there's enough here to wrap an entire family of dessicated cats)
i want to turn and stare directly through the glass
to look through the window pane that separates you and i and give it a little tippytap
i've seen where they put up aging sticky notes that say you shouldn't do that
you wouldn't want to cause a meek, captivated critter's heart to race
but today, after years of respectful obedience, i must give in to the urge
i can glimpse beauty beyond where i am sat
and i want to acknowledge it, because if i know one thing
it's that the corrosive nature of silence leads to regret
(thanks melissa joan hart's mom)
so today, i
--*-- tap --*--
--*-- tap --*--
--*-- tap --*--
ope, don't be frightened
i see you, gentle bird
i'm not much of a birdspotter myself
but i don't need to be great uncle ed to know
a tiny flying dinosaur when i see one
so whether you're a flighty voyeur
or a twitterpated cheerleader
a grackley iridescent stranger
or a columbian bluebird of friendliness
don't be shy,
i'm watching over you
i've made a spot in this birdhouse
i share a palmful of breadcrumbs and a heating pad
so please nest here a while if you like
i welcome the company
--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--
this page is no longer intentionally left blank,
and i look forward to it getting
messier by the day
--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--
~kc
it is a hot breezeless night in hill country april which is to say it is a night trees brood in the dark creak and scratch sway and bend shedding precious golden pollen with no real emotion or care the masked children have come and gone the altar of debris licked clean redhanded and disbanded another successful meeting they resume their crepuscular parade route across the river a lone coyote on its own singular in its solo-ness dials a number into the wind no one picks up the crickets are merry and wild they laugh at the coyote, care not for his troubles they have each other forever whirling and writhing and shrieking reveling and reeling and stinking this party will never end pan back to reveal the house which the trees cannot reach the raccoons have marched past the coyote has never seen the crickets crawl carelessly across we focus on a window above the garage slowly zooming in, until we melt like voyeuristic specters through the panes the night world is full of life, as it ought to be and the window is closed, as it ought to be a well-furnished cage of glass and wood a humane harbor for young souls nestled and cherished and protected wrapped in fabric and cushioned for landing already embarked on the ship bound for dreams safely sailing past the oneiric horizon trapped carefully to weather out this time of earthly misdeed but all are not safe the trap is sprung and one escaped across the room, my back is turned but i can sense it breathing faintly, though it feigns sleep, i can hear lungs whirring to dispel the warm air i sympathize, i empathize blinking lonely as a coyote a single hypnotic eye peering from the anxious darkness reflecting in the window reflecting in my thoughts thinking clever as a raccoon though it seems unlikely, there it sits neurons firing with the power of bottled lightning yes thoughts no thoughts never maybe lurking waiting like the crickets black beetle carapace, slick and hard minerals and substances mutilated from their natural form joined together to make a clicking, clattering abomination i should be cocooned in softness back turned to the beast ignoring its cry for attention but i am no longer waiting to emerge i am ready to be merged infused to the core with an energy beyond comprehension a newer, older man parts of me invisible to the eye but attune yourself, speak the words and you will see i have opened a window but not a window of glass and protection i have not invited the night into this room i have opened a window of backlit color and wonders unseen i have invited the world into this room i sit here hunched in a full-sized bed, cross-legged and leglessly crossing the world i know not whose house i am standing in now nor whether they have invited me or i am intruding i know only that i have entered another world where they know me only as kc kool wearing somebody else's clothes masquerading yet free