 LIVE FROM AN AS OF YET UNNAMED LOCATION ON VENICE BEACH. MARCH 23RD, 2013. KILLPOET. KLEFT JAW. READINGS. CELEBRATING THE RELEASE(S) OF KP #10 & KJ #01 WE MAY SPEAK DIFFERENT BINARY CODE, BUT THE SENTIMENT IS ALL THE SAME BABE. FEATURING: JASON NEESE FRANKIE METRO AURORA KILLPOET LINDSEY THOMAS BILLY BURGOS JEREMY HIGHT SETH ELKINS MILO MARTIN HANNAH WEHR JOHN SWAIN AND MORE... LIVE FREE WRITE FOREVER! WRITE FREE LIVE FOREVER! It suddenly occurs to everyone that you've read, the ones that live inside your skull, that you are not approaching this scenario in a condonable fashion. You've avoided the pranks and the high velocity quirks of small town living, only to see that it arrives at the front desk waiting for some sign that you're going to return to the root of it all, the source, the scene of the crime or that period of time where you just couldn't really hack it as a son or a father or a husband or a saint.
And even though, you take care not to offend, you feel obligated to claim rite as the pater familias. You can't ignore the encroaching grey skin of the patriarchal shift. You can't wait to step foot at the funeral with a sharp blade and even sharper inclination in your pocket. Everyone's going to see the false impression coming. They're going to whisper and squint when you make that long trek. And the doors of their homes will be forever closed. And the grave markers of adopted feasibility will read like something in foreign, dead tongues. You won't know what to make of the proceedings. But it'll be easily deciphered, by those you've read, and those that read you. I like Elijah Wood much better when he is smoking pot with a pretend dog in an imaginary basement12/19/2012  Tonight I am watching a slightly blurry version of this movie [The Hobbit] on my great-great great-great grandfather of a plastic mac book held together with black tape, and a set of $15.00 Logtech speakers from Target.
I am functionally deaf in my right ear and have an earplug in my left. A side effect of unilateral deafness is that the good ear is almost as fucked as the bad ear. I'm really stoned and all I can hear is gutteral death growls: "AAAAAAHHHHHHH!" and "NNNNNNOOOOOO!" indistinct grunting, dramatic orchestra music, the clashing of swords and armor. I'm sure that visually it would be a different experience to watch the movie in a theater, but it would still fuck up my ears. I don't really know what's going on because the screen is dirty and this copy is a little blurry. If I stare at it too long, it feels like I'm wearing someone else's prescription glasses. I am distracted to no end by the deep, pulsating bass violin and I feel like I'm riding a wildabeast through a forest; while small, cute animals skitter out of the way... I think about being forced to live in a hellish world where they play suspensful orchestra music at the grocery store, and violinists play at TGI Friday's while people eat potato skins and Jack Daniels- basted ribs. I think I would be really stressed out if I had to listen to this movie soundtrack while eating dinner. This isn't a fair review, since I'm the only one who can hear what I cannot hear or see what I didn't pay for... But, I am sure this movie is well worth the $94 million budget. For a while, I didn't have any idea what was going on except that one hour and thirty-five minutes into trying to watch it, I still hadn't seen a dwarf, elf, troll, orc, or wizard meant to have a vagina. For half an hour, I wondered how any of them reproduced and then, finally, appears the bitch with the harp and then the orc lord "Defiler" said "The dwarf scum will show themselves soon enough" and then, finally the stupid thing cut out and I was so glad it was over. -Pantifesto's Porntastic Phunhouse-12/18/12-  "Feature 3 was an adult female burial which on two occasions, had been disturbed. In 1990 the burial had been cut into by the telephone trench. The northern edge of the burial was disturbed and a number of bones and vessels appear to have been displaced at that time. The burial was struck a second time in 1991 when the backhoe 'trimmed' the west end of the burial pit. The burial pit had been cut deep into the caliche. It was at least 75 to 80 cm below the present ground surface.
The pit was at least 70 cm wide northeast to southwest and 90 cm long northwest to southeast. The body lay on its right side with the axial skeleton orientated east to west. The skull was at the east end of the pit. The upper arms appear to have been lying along the front of the chest. One forearm was drawn up so that the wrist lay below the humerus. The other lower arm was disarticulated. An in-situ hand lay against the north edge of the pit. The legs were flexed with the knees pointing north. The lower legs were removed by the backhoe. In general the burial was very disarticulated from the two backhoe disturbances and rodent activity. It is possible that when the burial was originally uncovered in 1990, portions of the skeleton may have been disturbed intentionally. Field observations indicated that this individual was a female, probably aged older than 35 at death..." "Feature 4 was a child's burial that had been cut by the backhoe and subsequently removed by workers prior to the arrival of the archaeologists. No in-situ bone survived. Most of the skeleton was not recovered. The pit was cut deeply into the caliche. It was round bottomed and was at least at 65 cm long west to east and 30 cm wide north to south. The base of the pit was 97 cm below the current ground surface. Feature 4 was almost directly below Feature 5. Skeletal portions recovered included the left frontal and temporal, both parietals, the mandible, and the right tibia. No teeth had erupted, suggesting the child was less than a year old at death. Both were recovered as specimen 16."  Jersey Shore Marvel by: Frankie Metro “If what's always distinguished bad writing--flat characters, a narrative world that's clichéd and not recognizably human, etc.--is also a description of today's world, then bad writing becomes an ingenious mimesis of a bad world. If readers simply believe the world is stupid and shallow and mean, then [Bret] Ellis can write a mean shallow stupid novel that becomes a mordant deadpan commentary on the badness of everything. Look man, we'd probably most of us agree that these are dark times, and stupid ones, but do we need fiction that does nothing but dramatize how dark and stupid everything is? In dark times, the definition of good art would seem to be art that locates and applies CPR to those elements of what's human and magical that still live and glow despite the times' darkness. Really good fiction could have as dark a worldview as it wished, but it'd find a way both to depict this world and to illuminate the possibilities for being alive and human in it.
Postmodern irony and cynicism's become an end in itself, a measure of hip sophistication and literary savvy. Few artists dare to try to talk about ways of working toward redeeming what's wrong, because they'll look sentimental and naive to all the weary ironists. Irony's gone from liberating to enslaving. There's some great essay somewhere that has a line about irony being the song of the prisoner who's come to love his cage… The postmodern founders' patricidal work was great, but patricide produces orphans, and no amount of revelry can make up for the fact that writers my age have been literary orphans throughout our formative years. We enter a spiritual puberty where we snap to the fact that the great transcendent horror is loneliness, excluded encagement in the self. Once we’ve hit this age, we will now give or take anything, wear any mask, to fit, be part-of, not be Alone, we young. The U.S. arts are our guide to inclusion. A how-to. We are shown how to fashion masks of ennui and jaded irony at a young age where the face is fictile enough to assume the shape of whatever it wears. And then it’s stuck there, the weary cynicism that saves us from gooey sentiment and unsophisticated naïveté. Sentiment equals naïveté on this continent. You burn with hunger for food that does not exist. A U. S. of modern A. where the State is not a team or a code, but a sort of sloppy intersection of desires and fears, where the only public consensus a boy must surrender to is the acknowledged primacy of straight-line pursuing this flat and short-sighted idea of personal happiness.” ― David Foster Wallace- Transcendental realism is about getting past stifling structures. It is about identifying the boundaries/borders that get in our way and learning to move beyond them.
No Borders. No Gods. No Masters. So today, we are thankful for the turkey and the family and the day off. We are thankful for the poetry and the paint and the love in our lives. But we are also curious: Why do people set aside one day a year to say "thank you"? Will this same spirit of gratitude be here tomorrow or will we all be too busy shopping? What if we felt like this every day? What if every day was a celebration of all our good fortune? Why can't we spend more of our days in the company of our loved ones, eating good food, reading good books, and enjoying ourselves? Lets do this more often. LIVE FREE ! WRITE FOREVER!  While researching Sikhism for a recent flash fiction story, one of our staff members came across an interesting fact concerning a sect of holy monks called Nihangs, who were reputed as being savage protectors of Sikhism, dressed in electric blue turbans and brandishing all manner of weapons like the chakram (a sharply-edged brass circle worn on the turban or around the wrists, even twirled around the index finger while holding a spear or sword- a technique called tajani). While their fighting techniques and ceremonial decor is something we find fascinating, what really spiked our interest was the ritual of drinking Bhang, which is short for Bhang Thandi (a mixture of cannabis, milk, spices, and sugar). It was rumored that the Nihang hunters of the Punjab would venture into the forests in search of man eating tigers or lions that were terrorizing the neighboring villages, and that while hunting, the "crocodiles" as is the literal meaning of Nihang, would eat cannabis to aid with the digestion process and prepare them for battle. It is said, that Bhang helps the warrior thrive in battle, because he is vigilant and without fear. Of course there are far more complexities to the actual rituals, and even though it is sometimes questioned in the Sikh faith, for all likes and purposes ingesting Bhang Thandi serves the same principle for the Nihang, that communion serves for the Catholics. Flesh of my flesh. Herb of my herb.
*** -recipe per some website- Ingredients: 1 1/2 liter - Water 1 1/2 cups - Sugar (chini) 1 cup - Milk 1 tbsp - Almonds (badam) 1 tbsp - Watermelon/Cantaloupe seeds (dried and skinned) (kharboje ke beej) 1/2 tbsp - Poppy seeds (khus khus) 1/2 tbsp - Aniseed 1/2 tsp - Cardamom powder (elaichi powder) 1 tsp - Peppercorns (whole) (sabut kali mirch) 15 cannabis (bhaang) 1/4 cup - Dried or fresh rose petals (gulab ki pati) Instructions: 1) Take a pan and add 1/2 litre of water and sugar to it. Let it saok for 2 hours. 2) Now in a separate bowl soak all the other dry ingredients in 2 cups of water for minimum 2 hours. After 2 hours grind these soaked ingredients into a fine paste. 3) Mix remaining water to the paste and strain it using a strong muslin strainer to extract the liquid into a vessel until the residue becomes dry. 4) Now to this strained mixture add milk and sugar syrup. 5) Add the cardamom powder in the milk. 6) Keep it for chilling in the fridge for 2 -3 hours before serving. 7) Serve it cold with some chopped almonds. LIVE FREE! WRITE FOREVER! WRITE FREE! LIVE FOREVER! | Kleft JawWhere heads are served up raw. ArchivesNovember 2013 CategoriesAll |
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