"funny"

“funny"

written on a plane by jake kilroy.

blowing through town as mad as wind on a bender,

heels up on the rails of a city-wide waiting room,

where every artist lets the skyscrapers talk down to ‘em, 

i found myself waiting on women to touch my skull like a piano;

a cave-like church where soft presses on thoughts count

like rock art dolled up as a rare jackson pollock of daydreams.

colorful spirits still die here, don’t worry.

we just have better money for graves these days.

funny i don’t remember the funerals.

oh, what a breathtaking mausoleum for us to dance inside!

a carnival ride, the two of us, spinning colors

only seen when you get up too fast to see someone new,

here we come at the world like a tidal wave we sewed ourselves.

destiny was never only for ancient warriors.

it just makes for a less jealous audience.

all while wildflower crowns make for better use of battlefields,

we sneer at decaying lovers we only cherish

for the weapons they made us.

see, when i was young, i could hardly keep my eyes tucked in

for any new bedtime story that cracked ear to ear beyond

the two dozen good lines about an empty bed in flames.

funny i never saw any sequels.

but then my bones wore down

and my fingers slowed down

when finally i powered down,

and memories were no longer string theory.

hell, they were hardly even decor.

they became a stockpile,

making me a survivalist

in a one-man show.

funny way to throw a party.

even in another country,

alone in a splintering tavern,

i could say life came at me quick

and i held on for as long as i could

before it threw me into the sea

where i found the coast guard

and thought it was a pirate ship of mermaids.

funny way to exit the world, i imagine, 

curious, cackling, and crazy;

but always relentless,

forever sweating the truth.

at least do that.

at least die truthfully.

"pulse"

"pulse"
written after the worst by jake kilroy.

one evening,
after the day
(so broken
in color)
climbs
into bed,
heartbroken
and lonesome,
you'll watch
the news
with eyes
wet and still
and shower
to get clean.
it won't be the last time,
and it won't be the worst one.
but you'll shove fingers in your throat
unready for how good it feels to take action.
sounds you don't recognize will pulsate in your bones and beyond,
as razorblades pump through your veins and arteries—
because it's something, goddamnit!
and then you'll go to a comedy show in l.a. where everyone's as sick as you;
the only people left alive, all with the diagnosis and a cure so far away,
in a country nobody can name, in a village nobody can love.
we'll ask for deliveries instead of deliverance
before finding god in the same line for handouts.
we can no longer write tragedies
because truth is meaner than fiction.
what a world.
what a time to be alive.
what a way to go to sleep.
how do you rise in the morning
when your heart feels like the shattered moon?
beat on.
that's all you can do.
in your tiniest of moments,
while the world haunts its patrons,
after years of polluted hope,
hot air so thick you can't see right,
you'll start to cry.
it'll be hopeless then.
it'll be hopeless for a long time, you figure.
drool will come.
tears will rot.
you'll dry-heave until even sanity leaves you.
you won't consider character.
you won't understand time.
you won't remember anything
but this, your weakest moment,
your most exact nothing.
and you'll find steam,
a pulse somewhere,
motion adrift,
a fire incoming,
and you, a lighthouse
suddenly aglow for any transport;
once as feckless as ambient storm,
now light in every sense.
the world waits,
and you stand,
100 lifetimes ready.

11/50: The Casual Vacancy

The Casual Vacancy, J.K. Rowling
4/5 stars
This is my 9th book in Rex & Jake's 50-Book Reading Challenge,
which Rex leads 12-11. Full list can be found here.

This is the first non-Harry Potter book I've read of hers, and it was delightful. She created real characters in their own little world, a small town where everything feels bigger than it really is. Or that's the case at times. In some cases, it becomes true to human nature, and that's the worst of anything. At first, I thought it would be a comedy of errors, but it eventually evolves into real people with real problems with each other. Centered around an open seat on the local council, adults and their teenage children have their own issues with each other and they begin to pile up and overlap. It never goes into truly devilish, uncomfortable territory (like Franzen), but it gets under your nerves without cheap bandages. 

My (Brief) Eulogy for David Bowie

Honestly, "Bowie" is practically an adjective to me. It summarizes a nebulas of hyper-aware mystery that I otherwise have no words for. You have rock stars that beam and want you to know they're glowing, and sometimes you have rock stars that are dim as shit and still want you to know they're glowing. What I got from David Bowie was that he shined like an alien spacecraft and shrugged it off. The dude understood identity. Bowie was a presence in the very least and a goddamn genius otherwise. And it's not just because he wrote at least a dozen songs that make my lips move before my brain even knows what we're doing. It's not just the music. It's that the dude fucking got "it." How I see things is that the world was an entirely different masterpiece to David Bowie.

He had the confidence of someone who a god explained the universe to, and he carried himself like the friend of a friend at a party. I mean, shit, I obviously didn't know the man, but I remember thinking once, "What kind of world would it be without Bowie?" Honestly, consider the fact that he wrote "Young Americans" for his ninth album. He was that good for that long, and now have you heard Blackstar? It's his 25th album and it just came out to critical acclaim. Do you understand how insane that is? He was in the music game for 50+ years and still writing on his deathbed, never repeating himself and still good at it while trying out fresh tactics. That's artistic integrity that should make your heart explode and your brain melt.

You get good music every year, but a David Bowie only comes around once in a lifetime. I feel like we lost the only alien visitor we've ever had. Bless David Bowie for being the most David Bowie he could've David Bowie'd. He made the world more curious that way.

re: Starbucks holiday cup design...

For Visuals: TIME - "See How This Year’s Starbucks’ Holiday Cup is Different From the Past"

2009 - Includes "wish" and "hope," two words that belong to birthdays, dating, and bad nights of miserable drinking more than the holiday season.

2010 - Includes the phrase "stories are gifts." Christmas doesn't own the idea of gifts or stories. In fact, 28% of U.S. citizens think Bible stories are technically journalistic pieces anyway.

2011 - Includes dog riding person as a sled. Is this in the Bible? Legitimately don't know. Only really know enough to argue with people about things that shouldn't matter.

2012 - Includes winking snowman. Possibly erotic intentions, possibly pansexual. Not sure how snowpeople work. Pretty sure they're not prophets.

2013 - Includes ornaments. Fine, that's Christmas-related, since it goes on a Christmas tree, but if we're talkin' secular here, that's just some dope tree jewelry.

2014 - Includes...I don't know, bows? Snowflakes? Not really sure, but totally confident that no religion owns winter or sassy dolled-up handouts.

2015 - Reflects popular return to flat design. Keeps bold color palette, loses busy iconography. Some batshit former pastor decides he wants attention and fails to realize that Starbucks has more or less been moving toward simpler design.

Anyway, the phrase "War on Christmas" is dumb, the idea of "War on Christmas" is stupid, and Christmas exists because of a war on pagans' winter solstice back in the 4th Century.

Meet Debbie Springe-Kilroy

READ: "Meet Debbie Springe-Kilroy" (a BLENDS interview with my mother about beating breast cancer)

Last year could've gone much differently than it did, and it's very peculiar to dwell on a time when my mom was at her weakest, since it never really felt like that (though she certainly looked the part). The good lady was bald and too tired to do anything, which is all very strange for a woman who usually gets up at, like, 4 a.m. to get things done, enjoy the sunrise over coffee, and then tackle projects throughout the day, ultimately rewarding herself with pints and a burger at Haven come Saturday afternoon (and forever testing my father's observation skills whenever she's added so much as a single streak of color to her hair).

So, anyway, Mama Bear got a write-up for Breast Cancer Awareness Month (courtesy of BLENDS, by way of the grandiose spark that is Jenn Romero). Debbie's been cancer-free for a good score now, but only recently wrapped things up in celebration. It's a wild spell for her to throw down as such, and the interview works as a exceptional eulogy for a bum year that could've gone devastating. My mother does a grand job summarizing her attitude, but, really, her jivey spirit, even in the weirdest, darkest moments, was fucking unreal. It was like witnessing someone on an emotional marathon, just calmly and casually with a shrug, "Well, I'm obviously not turning back or standing still. What sense does that make?" She even turned her year of cancer into a gigantic art project (including legitimately taking a portrait picture of herself every single day, because where in the hell would the world be without scrapbooks?).

As a whole, the article can be summarized by her closing remark: "I went on an amazing journey, and the people in our lives were right there with us. I thank all of you for being there for me during my journey. It was a roller coaster ride of emotions with multiple side effects, some of which I have already forgotten, thank goodness. I was absolutely overwhelmed and blown away by the love, support and extreme generous acts of kindness from those around me. I believe all the thoughts and prayers, along with a good attitude, helped me fight. I love you all for being there for me."

Thumbs up.

"the time in between"

"the time in between"
a poem from a boat and a good place by jake kilroy.

i was a wrecking ball once,
every man says,
when he finally sleeps
without women
beside him
or in his head -
a loft of a brain,
stylish and overdecorated;
what good life becomes
once former flames die out,
this time with no phoenix
napping beneath the ash.
what mud courses through you,
natural and slow, like molasses,
without the sweet taste of nostalgia.
you've given up blood.
you've given up poems about blood.
you've given up biting in kisses,
for the most part.
you see the world for what it is:
anything.
and you wonder why you always
barreled through it like you didn't have time,
now, here, resting easy in the quiet of a night
when the moon hangs, and your neck rolls,
and you're down to water over wine,
for the most part,
and you ready yourself to be wilder than ever.

When Love is Finally on the Table for All

When you're young, love is this overly abundant resource that can be mined, harvested, and absorbed from every possible space. You pluck it out of the air, you drink it in gulps, you practically breathe in the sensation of adoring the world at a constant. You "love" your parents, your friends, your dog, recess, cake, balloons, summer, toys, that park down the street—everything. Then you meet your first crush that stirs up the pretty butterflies with prettier chainsaws and suddenly "love," in all its new variations with all its new complexities, is the craziest, most absurd thing to ever befall Earth.

Love is still pure then. It's basically like your heart is always spinning in a meadow. It hasn't been chastised, corrupted, or completely undone. It's just more in your sinuses, your gut, and your dreams now than it is in the world around you.

Then you get a bit older and you realize the good love is the hard love. It's the kind that demands your attention, that asks questions of your inner-workings that you never even wondered, and the poundings in your heart begin to battle the throbbing in your head. You can't explain shit and you're already recognizing the strange habit people have of barging their way into your love. People want you to know what you're doing wrong, how it can be helped, and why there's another way. Even people who don't know you now have opinions. Everyone wants to tell everyone else what love "is" or "should be." But to you, it's still philosophy, not mathematics.

And then you get older still, and you get your love picked apart, reassembled, and gorged upon by government and religion. Even as a concept, they want to run it through machines. They want to evaluate and discuss it like you're not there, perpetuating the idea that, sometimes, a beating heart ain't worth as much as the next one. You get weirded out by it. You get sickened by strong opinions of bodies, no longer just people.

Finally, after everything, years of watching "love" go from dreamscape to science experiment—in exaggerated theory, of course, since love in its purest form is the indefinite mainstay of decent folk everywhere—all you ever want to fucking hear is some powerful group that has some leverage in this slip-n-slide of a society say, "All love is on the table for whoever wants it," and you wonder how in the world anyone ever doubted their initial gut reaction in the first place. Damn.

Glad to see some kid hearts in the Supreme Court these days. Good work.

Jon Stewart's Speech about Charleston

The Daily Show
Daily Show Full Episodes,  More Daily Show Videos,  Comedy Central Full Episodes

When the same piece of content shows up in a social feed, it's very easy to get sick of it and react to abundance rather than content. And it's very easy to be the person who smugly LOVES typing "slacktivist," when sharing an opinion piece online is very clearly not the same thing as participating in a live protest. The point is, this is a 5-minute speech that articulately observes the total sadness of what may be an endless, worsening cycle. Liberal, conservative, whatever—it would be nice to stop hearing about Americans killing Americans in great numbers. Hell, it'd be nice to stop learning that Americans are killing Americans in small numbers. Even more so, it'd superb to hear about people killing people beyond borders, but that's why world peace makes the most timeless toast, because evil will always exist. There will always be horrifyingly violent lunatics. But if there's a chance to at least converge and discuss what is an institutionalized problem of racism, there is potential action. Stopping global terrorism may be a fight without end, but domestic terrorism offers steps, even if it's as simple as changing street names and flag policies.

Caitlyn Jenner

Caitlyn Jenner
an essay/rant after taking in a week of social media
by Jake Kilroy

I absolutely wasn't going to comment on Caitlyn Jenner, but, goddamnit, after taking in social media this week, I feel like I gotta.

You see, there's been a problematic attitude of "that isn't bravery, but this is." The trouble here is that it's limiting. In my opinion, there are many, many, many types of heroes. I don't believe we should see bravery or heroes as exact. It's an essay, not an equation.

Take that whole meme that Snoop Dogg posted where he hyped Akon for bringing electricity to 600 million Africans. That is a HUGE deal. But the cheap shot at Caitlyn Jenner was unnecessary at best. If you're upset about media coverage, take a shot at the media. Both are heroes for two entirely different reasons in two entirely different causes. It's not a scale. Akon isn't going to lose funding because Bruce Jenner is now Caitlyn. Media coverage is totally a scale, however. But Caitlyn Jenner didn't run the meetings on this week's broadcast programming or newspaper layouts. Take it up with the media, ya big jerk. Plus, you kind of smear Akon's damn respectable efforts with a mean-spirited meme.

Heroes work toward the greater good of the world or a community. My father is a hero to me and my family because the dude works six days a week without slacking, so he can do right by us. Bravery comes down to courage and/or noble qualities. My mother's in the brave category, to my family, for the way she barreled into cancer treatments with an attitude I couldn't muster on a good night. The lady was fearless.

Caitlyn Jenner is a hero because she showed people who feel a whole lot differently than you and me that it's acceptable to consider those dark feelings and move toward joy. And she did so without any idea how things might go when she did. She's an inspiration because, hey, that's not the standard magazine cover. Hell, it'll be the first time ever someone like me is pleased to see anyone associated with the Kardashians on the cover of a periodical while I stand in line at the grocery store.

Ellen DeGeneres caught backlash for coming out as a lesbian in 1997. That was less than 20 years ago and Ellen's obviously one of the most charming people to ever exist. Again, that's just my opinion. But while we've watched gay rights evolve significantly (Matthew Shepard was as recent as 1998), this country only crossed the 50% approval line for same-sex marriage in 2013. It took us a while to get there (a subjective term, really), and it will likely take us a while to get there with transgenderism acceptance. Jenner knew that when she agreed to the Vanity Fair cover. That's why it was brave. That's why she's a hero.

But it doesn't lessen the bravery of other heroes. There was coverage this week about people downplaying Jenner in trade for soldiers on Facebook. I get it, but I think the comparison is unfair to both. They're not close to similar and shouldn't be evaluated on the same terms. They take two supremely different spirits and resolves. It's more understandable to make points about one instance requiring more of a person, but I still find it to be a strange attitude. One doesn't negate the other. They're two wildly, vividly different worlds.

I, for one, cannot even fathom the terrifying depths of war. Not even a little. The fact that I can hold normal conversations with someone who has endured one of the most unimaginable things in existence will never cease to floor me. There are men and women who are willing to throw everything on the line to protect this country's citizens and way of life. It's absolutely commendable. It's total bravery. Soldiers whole-heartedly risk body and mind at a constant for months or years at a time. How in the holy hell could I even do that for a day?

However, social heroes exist as well. I don't see heroism as a selection of either/or and I don't see why it has to be.

And then there's this whole shit about "God made him a man" and "God doesn't make mistakes." You're seriously telling me you believe in a supernatural entity that has the power to create EVERYTHING, but you find it impossible to even consider the notion that the same being gave this man the idea and capability to become a woman? Heaven and Hell are more possible than this individual's thought process and identity crisis? Also, if you want to make the case that God is infallible, there are centuries of world history that can be thrown at the immediate mouthing off of "God always has a plan." And that's just assuming His/Her plan didn't include total free will for all humanity anyway. We're talking about an impossibly gigantic spirit you've never so much as even met and you're speaking for the lord like a coked-up PR agent with such impulse, fury, and arrogance, all because one person you don't know took the steps to be happy and comfortable with who they are.

What pissed you off, that Jenner landed a magazine cover? That insane family's built a media empire out of being bozos, airheads, and losers. This is the first thing I've found interesting about the lot of them and you're suddenly leaping off your high horse with a megaphone.

Also, the media was pretty good about this one, but they can be cruel. They can be senseless. They can be ruthless. They can be feverishly starved for conflict. Jenner went into the photoshoot unsure what the other side would look like. Yes, there's been some real hateful shit dropped, but what I've seen between social and media has seemed close to 50/50, maybe beyond that in favor of positive. That could've turned out totally different. That's what made it brave, the fact that maybe this country as a collective whole was going to shame the shit out of her, viciously, publicly, and without remorse.

So, again, I don't think it at all takes away from the many other, very different kinds of bravery. Soldiers, parents, activists, any variety of hero - bravery is a widespread and noble feat, regardless of where it takes place. It's a concept, not an exact portrait. It always takes a lot, whether physical, emotional, or both.

We don't need people that say, "This and only this is bravery." That will cost this impressive nation a lot of progress.

Personally, I have a real hard time being me sometimes. Everyone does. And that's without the wild, heavy weight of gender dysphoria. I can't imagine what it must be like to feel a million miles away from my own body or assigned to skin that ain't mine. Laura Jane Grace summed it up with this: "The cliché is that you're a woman trapped in a man's body, but it's not that simple. It's a feeling of detachment from your body and from yourself. And it's shitty, man. It's really fucking shitty."

I don't know how I'd keep things in order with that and neither do you. Just let Caitlyn Jenner be or contribute something meaningful to the dialogue. You're obviously welcome to say whatever you want or feel, but my final thought is this: Don't boil a complicated issue down to some cocky sneer of a poorly worded negative status update. It almost never helps. It's usually just you being shitty.

And finally, if you're hyping the first amendment to stand by those bogusly misspelled opinions on social media, just read the fucking first amendment already. It only prevents the government from passing censorship laws. It doesn't in any way, shape or form stop your peers from slamming you for your bullshit. It's so, so crazy that you don't know this by now.