"she was a laugh"

"she was a laugh"
between daydreams by jake kilroy.

with the curve of her lips,
she could howl at the moon.
it was slight, it was bare,
and i could hardly breathe.
she would stretch her limbs
like a yawning mulberry tree,
the kind built for childhood,
the type that looks good with age.
my eyes were strobe light vintage,
and her skin was papyrus sweet.
we mulled over our teeth
with cameras used in the war
and canvases that adorned palaces.
god, she was breathtaking.

i wrote the poetry into her skin
and pressed down with a caress
to make sure it'd seep all the way
into the wild rivers she called blood,
so the words would sweep through her
and truly bury every time she was alone
and leave the past to waste away for good.
when she would sleep, and she slept wild,
my words would sneak out of her delta
and somersault across her prairie muscles
to take the railway that was her every bone.

she was the scenic route,
and i was the long ride home,
but we curved into each other,
crashing and reaching and traveling,
until we were dizzy with fireworks
and pulverized with poems and anthems,
lighting candles inside each other's brain,
so we could see what we were in love with.

but all of it, absolutely all of it,
every inch of our bodies,
every wish of our beings,
could be summed up
in
one
great
big
beautiful
laugh.

"driver's seat"

"driver's seat"
after an observation of wreckage by jake kilroy.

how many car rides in the hills of your hometown do you need
to make sure you one day make it home for good?
he wondered, as he pushed his fingers further into the cassette deck,
spitting up blood, coughing up memories, dragging his tongue,
hyperventilating and sucking in the cool night air of yesteryear.
he watched the unmoving structures of man below the cliff,
and he prayed to the uninterested god of stability
to break the bones and shred the nerves of his enemies.
the lashings of licorice ropes came at him
in the steady hands of every childhood demon,
cackling with fire and wide-eyed with wildfire.
but it would get better.
he didn't know it then.
but every demon gets tired.
you just have to take the beatings.

1 Million Views in 36 Hours

I think this video technically stands as the biggest thing I've ever worked on, and I just wrote a few lines of copy. It hit 1 million views within 36 hours, and I couldn't be prouder of everyone at work (as this is our first commercial spot). Hot damn, our generation's nostalgic.

"swan song"

"swan song"
taking in a bad turn of events by jake kilroy.

bastardized and cultivated,
i swore into bachelorhood
on a ballroom dance floor
that looked suspiciously
engulfed in flames.

my carnation smelled of salt
and my gums rattled with guilt.
i noticed the women serving champagne
looked familiar in the low, ample light,
but how could i recognize them
so far away from home?

i breathed in the smokey fumes
of the heap of past wreckage,
and i nailed the stars of the night
to the sky itself with only my eyes.
so my hands settled in my pocket
and i closed the smooth lighter shut,
for my swan song was just beginning
and i wasn't about to let this knife dance alone.

"fury"

"fury"
after a long talk by jake kilroy.

like spectators mad with mist
and furious about flesh,
we loom in these cars
and these bedrooms, true,
but we mangle our fingers
writing letters to hearts
using bones as pens
and blood as ink
and we terrify ourselves
with the lasting pride
we can't swallow
but we keep drinking
and drinking
until we choke and spit
and vomit and cry
and bitch and complain
and threaten and take action,
until we're in the final throughs
of a spiritless bed
going over photographs
we couldn't retake
with all the technology in the world.
so we play guitar worse than last year
and the year before that,
and the year before that,
until we reach ourselves as teenagers
and beg for forgiveness over and over
and its pitiful and awful and devoid of hope
and all we can do as our younger saintly self
is huck a pat on the back
and tell us monsters of age
that everything will be alright.

"the moon"

"the moon"
'round midnight by jake kilroy.

wrecked by the moon,
as if she was listening to ella
and washing her legs
that she never kicks up,
and glowing up a storm
while humming a song
i couldn't place in a box
so it's worth a damn,
and all i want to do
is take her to paris.

"wild about the infinite"

"wild about the infinite"
a poem about the spirit of a gal by jake kilroy.

oh, she was wild about the infinite,
borne of the forests and bathed in the oceans.
she could be the calm after french sex,
but carry the mad-howling gleeful fury
of the first woman to throw her boyfriend's records to the street.

she grinned like a porcupine and roamed like a tumbleweed,
all while wearing feathers as both hair and headdress.
of the earth, she sold her belongings, only to find me
ankle-deep in materialism and weary catholic apathy.
but she had a wink that felt like a backdraft,
and my breaths would later catch up with me,
down south, near the coastline,
on a bed touched up by surf wax.

she was delicate like stained glass
but barely there like the proof beyond,
and all my sunday morning lectures
hadn't prepared me for this spirit.

but her laugh curved up out of her core like mist,
and it glowed neon in the bare light of the moon,
as i traveled her like a lonely road back home
and then couldn't sleep for weeks.

Give Me Something That Says...

Take a look at this jacket.

Ignore the hoodie underneath. It's that dirty golden beast I'm telling you about. It's an unremarkable piece of clothing, except that I don't buy clothes all that often. So it's easy for friends to notice new threads. One day, soon after I purchased said jacket, Rex, Scott and I were cruising around Orange, and Rex noticed the jacket in my backseat. He asked about it. I told him I went into the store and said, "Give me something that says...it's back to school night in Anaheim Hills." Rex and Scott then followed up with their own "Give me something that says" lines about the jacket (which looks significantly less twenty-something attire without a hoodie). The one-liners continued the rest of the day, and then we moved it to Facebook.

Anyway, I was going through some old jokey threads on Facebook and found one of me, Rex and Scott talking about the jacket, and it made me laugh. We never really discussed the dopey, but somewhat manly, suburban husband-father character we are all describing in said jacket. But it's like a guy who's stuck between North County and South County and keeps trying to impress people but doesn't really get it. He goes into the store, tries to explain to the clerk what kind of a jacket he's looking for, and she doesn't understand. Finally, he puts his fingers thoughtfully to his lips and figures out exactly how to describe the jacket he wants.

Jake: "Give me something that says...Orange County Wine Tour."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I like to feed my dog a healthy mix of wet and dry foods."

Scott: "Give me something that says...I own stock in the Sharper Image."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I attend BBQs to passive-aggressively tell the host how to barbecue."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I don't play golf to get away from my family. I play golf because I enjoy it."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I defend Michael Bay movies at dinner parties."

Rex: "Give me something that says...It's pretty obvious that breakfast is the most important meal of the day."

Scott: "Give me something that says...I get a 15% discount at Coco's on a regular basis."

Rex: "Give me something that says...My Ford Taurus is cool, but I'd certainly rather drive a convertible Miata."

Jake: "Give me something that says...Attending a boat show is on my bucket list."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I'm really looking forward to tennis sweater weather."

Scott: "Give me something that says...My Ford Taurus has personal seat warmers."

Rex: "Give me something that says...This looks perfect with my khaki shorts."

Jake: "Give me something that says...Friday night with the family at Claimjumper."

Rex: "Give me something that says...Hey guys, this is my new, attractive, and significantly younger girlfriend."

Jake: "Give me something that says...The wife finally let me out for a poker game with the guys."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I encourage carpooling."

Jake: "Give me something that says...Middle management is the place to be."

Rex: "Give me something that says...I'll just have a club soda."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I'm a meat and potato guy, but I really, really like salad."

Rex: "Give me something that says...They just don't make snow shoes like they used to."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I like to talk about the wild car I owned in my twenties more than the fiscally responsible car I own now."

Rex: "Give me something that says...Yes, actually, I do have life insurance."

Jake: "Give me something that says...Yeah, I've seen a TED Talk or two."

Rex: "Give me something that says...The Charleston is my go to dance move."

Jake: "Give me something that says...I own hiking boots, but I don't know any good trails."

And there you have it, for whatever reason.

Fashion Pit: Volume II

It may not surprise you even a little bit that the man in this photo isn't the most fashionable person around:

However, it may truly surprise you that he has extraordinarily fashionable friends. Once again, enter Sara. You may know her from the Glitter + Grace blog or remember her from the first installment of Fashion Pit. Now, while Glitter + Grace is like that sweet-natured popular girl in high school movies with all the right clothes and The Cobblestone Address is like the mouthy drunk burnout doing doughnuts in the school parking lot, they're somehow able to meet in the cafeteria of the blogosphere and have a conversation.

And the conversation goes like this: Jake gives Sara an outfit theme, Sara dresses according to her own interpretations, Jake goes to bed feeling accomplished, Sara goes to bed feeling charitable, and then everyone does jump high-fives in dreamworld.

Anyway, here's more mumbo-jumbo from me and fashiony fashion from Sara. Woo!

Romantic Cabin Getaway
Sara: I wanted to look and feel cozy in this outfit, since I pictured being snuggled up by a fire with this theme. I had just gotten these new floral nail polish stickers, which I also felt conveyed "romantic." Add a floral scarf and boom - double romantic.
Jake: When the city becomes too much, as it always does, there's the turn of a key and the burn of some rubber, and suddenly, before your weary eyes, there's the highway. America spits out the asphalt like an endless trail for the manic, and then, like the waves of the ocean, mountain roads rise and crash, curving around the great still rocks of the earth. Finally, after enough soulful laughs and shared childhood stories, there's a cabin. There, within dark wooden fortress walls, coffee has never tasted better, blankets have never felt softer, and VHS movies have never seemed more reasonable after the millennium. The fireplace never shuts up, the sky refuses to end, and the bed swallows both romantics whole. You giggle until you're sick and worship mornings for a new view after you've done all you can handle at night. Plus, there's often puzzles.

Safari Love
Sara: Animal print is by far the easiest thing for me to come by in my closet. I had three items come to mind immediately when Jake gave me this theme, but then he threw the word "tan" or "khaki" somewhere in his description, so I quickly narrowed it down to this neutral color palette.
Jake: Between roars and growls, there remain the most penetrating colors for the eyes to behold while the ears take in the wind and the beasts. Above, there's a blue as soul-piercing as a cavern lake. Before, there's a gold as dazzling as a museum statue. Around, there's a green unseen since childhood books. Inside, though, there's a red as beautiful and immaculate as velvet. The red beats and swells and rolls and dances and waves until its exhausted from the nostalgia, the desire, the very impossibility of it all, and the world opens up on the great plains.

Pop Art Gallery Opening
Sara: High bun, (faux) leather skirt, blazer, funky tights, and a pop art-ish necklace were what I threw together for this one. I had high hopes of looking incredibly edgy and sophisticated, with a dash of arrogance.
Jake: You haven't always understood art, but you've always been relatively sure of what you've liked. So a gallery opening that celebrates the dots of old comic book artists and the ransom-like cutouts of black and white magazines has beckoned you like a dinner party of prophets and magicians. You've stumbled into the promised land of pop culture and everyday life interpretted by thin-mustached and tremendously bearded artists. Paintings show women in robes holding coffee and sketches give you a cigarette pack with lethargy. You've forgotten the French names you learned in college, as you catch the woman with folded hands and eyes like temple caves. She's in charge, and she can give you the backstage that's only found when it's passed mouth to mouth. She's spent years turning down artists, she's lived lifetimes before you even considered setting foot in her joint, and she'll go home last, but she won't ever be least.

Winter Wonderland Apocalypse
Sara: I thought to dress in grays, whites and blacks in order to blend in with what I can only imagine would be a barren, ashy and desolate landscape. The shoulders of my sweater have black gems on them, which, in my mind, emulated armor and would help keep me safe in the post-apocalyptic days. It also gave me an excuse to wear my favorite winter coat that hardly makes it out of my closet (thanks, Jake!).
Jake: Winters can always feel like the end of the world, but they don't have to be nuclear. Maybe Christmas made your heart grew three sizes one day. Maybe you didn't know you had a peanut allergy and ate all that peanut brittle. Maybe the Christmas tree gave you everything you ever wanted and there was no point in going on. Still, there's that slight chance that the apocalypse came and went and the only thing that stayed was winter. Who said a new ice age would be bad? That's a lifetime of sledding and building snowmen and calling out for work. Just watch out for them black ice road warriors.

CEO's Wife at Happy Hour Trying to Downplay the Extraordinary Wealth
Sara: Oh man, I loved getting this one. I love the theme way more than I love my outfit. I suppose I tried to look like I was wearing somewhat designer pieces (Chanel-eque necklace, suede boots, and a fancier top) and then dressed it down with jeans. (As opposed to metallic snakeskin leggings?!? I'm not exactly sure what would have made me look loaded as opposed to downplayed). I tried though.
Jake: It's the look that would cost you something fierce, and it's the woman who could ruin you in the least poetic way your wasteland brain's ever imagined. You've put off oil changes and thinned out birthday gifts, all because you couldn't swing a raise in the slow-day wreckage of the cubicle farm. Money's tight, and your wallet's been tighter, and now here, in the unbearable light of some joke of a restaurant, the man who's closest to owning you struts up with the glorious woman he's seen every angle of, all while you put in the hours after sundown. And you can feel it in the tiny sharp fibers of your bones that she knows they're too well off to be in a place that serves mozzarella sticks. You can tell she left her best clothes in the walk-in closet that you'd take over your own studio apartment as an accommodating place to live. But you don't say anything. You not only can't believe the clothes, but, more importantly, you can't stop the stare. And that's when your stupid beer comes.

Well, there you have it, the combination of style and steez, wrapped up in five outfits/outpourings. Til next time. Woo!

"when god came to christmas"

"when god came to christmas"
written around the holidays by jake kilroy.

when god came down the mountain
in his rarest form,
as a human,
he waited for christmas
to celebrate the winter solstice
and the calendar birth of his only son.

he was mistaken for christ,
asked to be santa,
was an assumed lost priest.

he waited 40 days and 40 nights
to find a movie worth a damn
to fall asleep to on a couch that finally wasn't white.

he discovered soft pretzels and waited for snow,
read comic books and topped presents with bows,
drank dark ales and caught a cold,
wrote poetry and waited to hold
the weight of the world
with the strength of his soul.

there was funk music for days
and cigar smoke for weeks.
there was glitter in his hair
and sand on his cheeks,
all as he waited
for a holiday feast.

and so it came,
the miracle of mirth,
paid for by histories of blood
and millenniums of wonder,
with society after society longing
for the guest who also played host.

no family, no invite,
no house to decorate with color,
and his own lineage couldn't be traced,
so he moved on like a nomad at supper.
yet he slapped backs and rolled his neck
in great, wondrous laughs that shook the earth,
but then cried himself silly on his way back,
all with thunder and lightning calling out his name,
wishing merry christmas to all and to all a good night.

"i sweated you out like a junkie fever"

"i sweated you out like a junkie fever"
written after a new year in mexico by jake kilroy.

in mexico,
i sweated you out like a junkie fever.
strapped to the bed by tequila,
i drank bottles of beer for days,
and when the new year came,
i was awash in a gold
i've only seen on old bed frames in the movies
when the gentleman lover actually stays over
to make breakfast
for the heroine,
who can't speak,
but only laugh
and gesture.

on the ride home,
along a dirt road that felt like the past,
i whistled and slapped the metal of the truck,
putting on toots and the maytals
and asking my friend why we don't just stay in mexico.
he said, "then it wouldn't be the mexico we love."
and i thought about all the lines i've stood in at grocery stores,
at office supply stores, at post offices, at restaurants, at bars.
i dwelled on every time i slammed a car door and thought,
"i need to get out of this fuckin' town."
and there, on the backroad swooping onto the old road,
i chuckled, with eyes suddenly as wide and deep as the horizon,
and realized he was right.
why turn heaven into a wine bar
when it could be the great, beautiful field of grapes?

and then i thought about all the whiskey i was in line for,
all the paper and pens i needed,
all the letters i've sent over the years,
all the lounges i've tossed back shots and jokes,
and then, in one dumbfounded graceful knock on my own head,
i realized i was fine anywhere.
i just wanted to be elsewhere.

hell, i was in a great american music hall
in the rainbow-colored belly of san francisco
when i heard a song about cutting off my hands.
my only thoughts were,
what good are they anyway?
what good have they ever been?
what good will they ever be?
and then the song was over
and i clapped for the band.
and i smiled at the irony.
and then,
between the sick shifts of spitting and coughing,
i realized i treat my heart like a trampoline
and my brain like a bed,
when it should be the other way around.
i mean, hot damn,
swap mexico for america,
and i'm still just a man on the outskirts of town,
getting just far ahead enough of himself
to forget where he's been and where he's going.
i'm just a man barely sure of where he is,
but with all the time in the world.

and so we waited in line at the border,
and i fell asleep as soon as i crossed my bed,
and i dreamt of gasoline and wind
with a few nightmares of staying still.

2012: A Survey

Where​ did you begin​ 2012?​​
South of the border with the most amazing crew of righteous folk ever to hold surfboards, books, and guitars; just as I did for 2013, just as I did for 2011, just as I did for 2010, just as I did for 2009, just as I will next year probably.

Have any life changes in 2012?​​​

Started a new job and solidified my career direction of advertising, at least for a while.

Where​ did you go on vacation?​

Bookend Mexico mania. San Francisco recovery. Big Bear cabin laze. Seattle party adventure. Big Sur comfort. A few wild getaways of shorter natures. Still not even close to being enough travel.

What'​​​s the one thing​ you thought you would​ never​ do but did in 2012?

Be 100% happy with a job.

What was your favorite moment?

Running down a neighboring street on Fourth of July with serious fireworks being shot off all around me. It felt like that scene in The Sandlot, except there were no oldies playing and I had been drinking all day and was borderline delirious.

What was your biggest accomplishment?

I finished writing my screenplay, West Coast, and I sent out my novel, Darby's Last Year.

What was your favorite TV program for the year?

The Wire, for sure, though I discovered it years too late. Also, Boardwalk Empire.

What was the best book you read this year?

House Of Leaves, by Mark Z. Danielewski. It will always be a darkness I carry with me. Truly the most "book" I've ever read.

What was your favorite film of the year?

Looper. I can't remember a time that I wished I had written a movie more.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept this year?

"Hey, look at me kinda-sorta make an effort!"

What song will always remind you of 2012?

"Blood" by The Middle East.

What did you do on your birthday?

I played croquet with some chaps and realized, alongside said chaps, that croquet is the best.

What was your best month​?​​​

March. That was a month that didn't stop laughing. My calendar was just frantically scribbled exclamation points every weekend.

What one thing would have made your year more satisfying?

Not always being on the verge of being broke. But, then again, recklessly spending all that money technically made my year way more satisfying.

What kept you sane this year?

Writing. Always. More specifically, though, it was poetry this year.

What celebrity did you fancy the most?

Olivia Wilde, with a brief "hot diggity" for Alison Brie. I ENJOY HER ABILITY TO SUCCEED AT BOTH MAD MEN AND COMMUNITY. However, Olivia Wilde is the 10 of 10s. LOOK AT HER. JUST LOOK AT ALL THAT SHE IS.

Drinking buddy of the year?

Too many.

Smoking buddy of the year?

Not enough.

Whose behavior merited celebration?

My brother's and mine when we were both unemployed for three weeks at the beginning of the year. We treated funemployment like a sprint that should've been a marathon. It was like we were wearing the seven deadly sins as robes.

Whose behavior disappointed you?

Mine/the government's, per usual.

Any regular activities?

Outstanding weekly activities included Sunday morning basketball, Monday night writing, and Wednesday's recent "Record Nights." Beloved annual activities included Kilroy Family's End of the Summer Party, Swaylocks, Second Thanksgiving, Sarvas Christmas Party, and Mexico New Year's.

Favorite night​ out?

Without consideration of travel or women, I'd still say there's quite a few in the running. But I'd say it was probably the 24-hour San Diego backyard party.

Start​ a new hobby​?​

Evening bike rides. Therapeutic, healthy, fun. Only activity I can describe like that with my clothes on.

Any slumps?

I don't know what it was, but summer dragged with the other seasons being tremendous. 2011 saw the same weird lull. Guess what, 2013? We're not doing that shit again. WE'RE DOING SUMMER LIKE IT'S A BAD BITCH BEGGING. Also, 2013, let's make sure I don't use the phrase "bad bitch begging" again.

Been naughty or nice?​​

Honestly, this was one of the only years I'd say I was overall pretty nice and legitimately deserved Christmas presents.

Any regrets?​​​

Heeeeeeell yes. It's the most dangerous game, ain't it?

Do you have any New Year'​​​s resolutions?​

Do good. Be decent.

Overall,​​​ how would​ you rate this year?​​​

Not as rad as 2011 was, not as spectacular as 2013's gonna be.

What do you want to change in 2013?​

Indefinite stability of the wallet and brain.

What are you wishing for in 2013?

A writing career.