This page is dedicated to our
future zine called "The Missing" and is a rant/story telling
event produced by all members in the group. It will include rants,
comics, etc. www.myspace.com/thekndband will also have a Thursday
prayer by Chowning...called Chownings Catfish Mustache
http://www.myspace.com/thekndband.com!
Check it out! If there is an issue you are interested to post, message
us and we'll put it up for you..enjoy, reply...nice to meet you!
Although it seems as though things used to make more sense, I suspect
that they did not. I sort through all the hurdles and obstacles, and
set them beside the inexplicable intensity of nascent feelings. The
piles are not equal, and quite frankly I can no longer tell which
is which.
The bottom line is this: reality
can be much sweeter, and much more intimidating, than a world of fantasy
words. Breathtakingly so. I reach deep inside my guts and pull out
farms full of thought. They loop across the floor in mucus covered
strings. They're very repititious, their circularity leading me back
continuously to the same conclusions over and over. And if your guts
repeat the same stories, can you ever hope to hear anything new?
My own mind works to obfuscate
the messages it sends to whatever part of myself it is that interprets
thought. There's one part of it that roils in an ocean of emotion.
Understanding has nothing to do with these waters.
Another part of it speaks good,
clean sense that clarifies and crystallizes matter in the harsh light
of hungover morning. I detest this part, because truth sometimes pierces
painfully through the barriers we put up around ourselves to make
us happy. Or this is what I tell myself as peaceful oblivion wraps
its velvet arms around my skull.
So the two parts sit in juxtaposition,
and all the while pure reason laughs because all the facts aren't
even in. "Will they ever be?" it gasps between guffaws.
Although the question is rhetorical, it hurts me nonetheless. Disparate,
warring shards of psyche are a terror to manage.
But I take a deep breath, and
focus as I clutch the steering wheel in sleep-deprived hands, shaking
with palsy that two nights rest and a case of beer might cure. But
then again, might not. With focus comes simple answers, shoving aside
the flotsam that's got me nauseous. Beauty. Desire. Fear. Disbelief,
in luck and connection. I can't possibly express in words the paradox
that will shakes me to pieces over the next three days.
©
2008