Weapons of Jazz Destruction

March 20, 2012 (Tue)

KZ

5

As you might have guessed from my previous posts, I live in a neighborhood full of douchebags and shitheads. Unfortunately for them, I am well versed in the ways of the asshole. Okay, that sentence came out kind of wrong. Let me try again. Unfortunately for the assholes in my neighborhood, I am well versed in the art of retaliatory douchebaggery. Score. This afternoon, my next-door-neighbor got his hands on a trumpet. He is not a musician. As soon as I arrived home from work, I was greeted by the sound of my neighbor ceaselessly playing the same stoccato note out of his window: G-G-G-G-G-G-G. I was not impressed. The only person who could ever pull off a one-note so...

Good Night, Gentle Dreamers

March 14, 2012 (Wed)

KZ

2

I can't sleep tonight. Maybe you could blame it on insomnia, or on the pain from my injured ankle. Or maybe you could blame it on the six-hour nap that I took when I crashed out after eating dinner. What the hell do I know? I'm not a sleep doctor. Oh well. There are far worse things that could happen to you than not being able to sleep when you're supposed to. For some reason, my favorite time of of day has always been late at night. Nothing beats that calming sensation of solitude you feel as you roam your conscious mind while the world around you lies asleep. There are no distractions, no obligations except the ones you'll have to worry about in the morning. ...

The Conundrum of Human Empathy

March 12, 2012 (Mon)

KZ

3

With so many people in the world with real problems, it occurs to me that the only reason why I care about my frivolous little concerns is because they happen to be my own.

With Friends Like These...

March 9, 2012 (Fri)

KZ

4

On Thursday afternoon, my friend, Joie, sent me a text message to ask me how I was faring with my bum leg. I wrote out a transcript of the conversation below. As you will soon discover, both Joie and I are absolute delights. Joie: Hey gimpy. How's the foot? Hope you're not in too much pain. Kevin: Hey walky, it's all splinted up. There is discomfort because of the swelling and abrasion against the splint, but the ankle doesn't hurt as much today. Thanks for asking. Kevin: It sucks not being able to drive though. Can't even go to work. Joie: Nice! Can't drive with the other foot? Joie: If you're headed to downtown area, either Lee or I can pick...

Do These Crutches Make My Swollen Ankle Look Fat?

March 8, 2012 (Thu)

KZ

5

Well, that sucked. I messed up my right ankle pretty badly last Saturday while playing paintball. I was running and gunning, and I failed to notice a patch of uneven terrain, and I rolled my ankle during a full-on sprint. It hurt like hell, but I made it to my bunker and played on for another three minutes until the game was over. That was my last game of the day. At first, I didn't think much of the injury because I was still able to walk around and bear weight on my right foot. But as the afternoon rolled on, my ankle began to swell up, and I started having to walk with a limp. Later that evening while I was resting at home, I started to alternate between crawl...

Here's to Us, the Wicked Few

February 20, 2012 (Mon)

KZ

2

On Saturday the 18th, I drove a very long way to a little California town called Plymouth to play paintball at Infinite Edge Paintball Park with my team, the Wicked Few. It's been hard lately getting the whole team together in one place due to scheduling conflicts, which makes every team outing a special event these days. I miss those guys. I wish we had more opportunities to play together. To tell you the truth, I don't consider myself a very good paintball player given the amount of time that I've invested in the sport. I play two to three times a month; and at best, you could probably rank me a mediocre player who occasionally hits a lucky streak. Even so, every...

Visions of the Collective Breath

February 8, 2012 (Wed)

KZ

1

I lament the loss of diminishing vision, but what is it I'm supposed to be seeing? I glimpse those enticing sights feathering along the breeze, dancing at heights just beyond my reach. They brush the tips of my naked paws and taunt my rudimentary processes of thought before I can snatch them greedily within my weak and vestigial claws. For all of my conceit, I'm just a humble beast -- a breathing mass of bones and skin not much further removed from the simplicity of paramecium -- those single-cell vessels of contained little equilibrium, formed to eat and reproduce by transferring weight and water and information, dancing in the perpetuation of that quivering, living m...

You're Welcome, Rachel

February 4, 2012 (Sat)

KZ

4

Back in October 2011, My awesome writer friend, Rachel The Curly Muse (pictured above, assaulting me with her freaky hair), challenged me to write a short story by providing me a randomized creative writing prompt with really messed up plot requirements. Predictably, I didn't make much progress in the past few months. Tonight, Rachel came over to my place to visit, and she started giving me massive shit for failing to meet her writing challenge. Luckily for me, I write my best work when I'm under pressure and facing a deadline. All the while Rachel was breathing down my neck and snarling her nagging fits of disapproval, I wrote the following short story. I think ...

Incomplete Thoughts

January 19, 2012 (Thu)

KZ

2

Free will is such a constricting thing. I have dreams of fatigue, of sleep within sleep, respite in the face of so much tiring certainty. The haste of living creates a hateful kind of glaze that coats the landscape beneath familiar layers of reimagined wrinkles. In this world, the living will forever be plagued by a maddening sense of need, but there will never be a hunger worthy enough to crave it. I have faith in humanity, human discovery, the interaction of knowledge and necessity. If only there were enough time to witness those awakenings, the salutations to imagination, the gentle downpour of inevitable understanding. Who among us will remain standing when t...

Maybe My Verses Ain't That Free

November 18, 2011 (Fri)

KZ

2

It feels like there's no room left for poetry in my life these days. I've been living too long as a responsible adult -- working long hours, paying my bills on time, and falling asleep earlier than I often plan to because I'm just so damned tired most nights of the week. The potential for poetry in my life has been greatly marginalized by the soul-sucking rut of the middle class survival game. All I do is work, eat, sleep when I can, and lament the shortness of my weekends. Color me disenchanted. You know what counts as poetry in my life these days? Poetry is a concise, perfectly crafted e-mail message sent to my office inbox, free of grammatical errors and irrita...