Tuesday, April 20, 2010

I knew I thought I smelled you

I am getting so sick of this you spineless bastard. Yeah, that’s right you stupid invertebrate, I am going on record claiming that you were conceived out of wedlock. I’ve never had a problem with your kind before, but this has just gone too far.

I’ve given you more than one chance. Admittedly, you gave me about six months to cool off and that was quite kind of you after how things ended. I was just telling some friends last night about our encounter and how much it rattled me. If I were a cage, and you were a swift breeze or a jailed hawk, I would be rattling nonstop. That’s how deep you’ve cut.

At first you were just a bad dream; a Disconsolate Dream I mentioned to those close to me but otherwise chose to keep strapped intimately under my vest. The infectious poison of your existence was meant to be contained only in my head, and not spread from the darkness beneath your oily slithers into more natural and humane lighting.  Yes, I know you were raised in a hole in the ground and probably left to fend for yourself without parental guidance. But that is the byproduct of literally being a bastard and the topic is no longer up for debate.

You attacked me, unprovoked. I was a gentleman, enjoying an active lifestyle and good company, and I absentmindedly let the ball slip into your court. Reaching to get back what was rightfully mine, you exploded from the stacked bushels of my unconscious and into what social psychologists call my “personal space.” What you did was completely unacceptable but at least you knew your role and quickly receded to the hell from which you came. I almost blame myself more than I blame you, because a chance still stands that you are entirely of my creation; an entity of my incisive decisions.

Then, the lull. A full half year (or half full year) passed, you no doubt hibernating and planning the next public display of your sickness. Me, assuming you had been taught a lesson and dispersed of; a diluted pupil.

A huge mistake in reasoning that turned out to be. I fell enmeshed into the web you could never have spun yourself because god-forbid if you can spin webs then we are all doomed! Lying across a beautiful display of nature - showing yourself off like a sparkler on a birthday cake, seemingly winking at me with your rheumy, obsidian eyes - you waited. Weighted like the smashing end of a thrown gavel; the spinning conclusiveness of an impossible 200-year life sentence. Where you have been hidden is now of little importance. What matters now is erasing you completely from my life.

Monday, April 5, 2010

A Pollen Lifestyle

A stealthy glance back on my original goals for 2010 yielded a steady stream of mixed results. Concerning some areas: time to celebrate! In others: Focus up and fjord.
  • Wrote and acted in a short film about meetings that made it to the Chief Information Officer of my company. Show off a bit of moxy and a swatch of skin and you have a viral video that not even Jesus could ignore.
  • Crafted a short poem about the darkest parts of the living room, and got paid money to let an online magazine publish it in June. Published poet? Never thought it would happen, but I wrote that it would. Thus proving that the keyboard is mightier than sworn testimony.
  • Lost around 15 pounds this calendar year. How? Vietnamese martial arts, power yoga, beach volleyball, basketball and the occasional sprint down the sidewalk. Not to mention an awesome ski trip to Big Sky, Montana and a preemptive stomach purge whenever I hear “Miley Cyrus.”
  • After two months of searching, finally found the trigger and pulled it on an unsuspecting house. Four bedrooms, smooth doorknobs… and an in-ground, backyard pool. Bring it on summer.
  • Mungled up my back trying to kiss a short wall with my back while flying off exercise equipment. Still trying to figure out how to set things straight. Pretending that I could snowboard a week later didn’t help the situation.
  • No progress with writing at length. To see why, just look at my accomplishments. Alright now look back here at this: I, Wesley King, do promise to get better at writing every day. April is script writing month, as everyone knows, and after I finish my script I plan on rubbing up against my computer screen and creating some Kinetic Fiction.

This is for my future housemates...