Monday, December 14, 2009

I need to practice this a bit more, me thinks. I've given up on writing pretty much. I don't do much personal writing lately and all of the freelance work is funneling, counter-clockwise down my motivational toilet and I'm fine with it. So this works. I never thought I was that great anyway. I write like I speak. Like Yoda with Strep Throat. Like Marlee Matlin drunk. Like Jabba without Bib Fortuna. Like...fershure.

Saturday, December 12, 2009

repost 2007

Egg...

Everything that I wished for before I now have
and everything I now have is nothing compared to what I had.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Clean room and kitchen
check movie times
call family
text friendos
drink

Friday, November 13, 2009

This is how it works



It feels a little worse
Than when we drove our hearse
Right through that screaming crowd
While laughing up a storm
Until we were just bone
Until it got so warm
That none of us could sleep
And all the styrofoam
Began to melt away
We tried to find some worms
To aid in the decay
But none of them were home
Inside their catacomb
A million ancient bees
Began to sting our knees
While we were on our knees
Praying that disease
Would leave the ones we love
And never come again

On the radio
We heard November Rain
That solo's really long
But it's a pretty song
We listened to it twice
'Cause the DJ was asleep

This is how it works
You're young until you're not
You love until you don't
You try until you can't
You laugh until you cry
You cry until you laugh
And everyone must breathe
Until their dying breath

No, this is how it works
You peer inside yourself
You take the things you like
And try to love the things you took
And then you take that love you made
And stick it into some
Someone else's heart
Pumping someone else's blood
And walking arm in arm
You hope it don't get harmed
But even if it does
You'll just do it all again

And on the radio
You hear November Rain
That solo's awful long
But it's a good refrain
You listen to it twice
'Cause the DJ is asleep
On the radio
(oh oh oh)
On the radio
On the radio - uh oh
On the radio - uh oh
On the radio - uh oh
On the radio

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()() = @ ()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

I'm going to let my fingertips guide this
but my mind has already decided where this will go
I'm clearing my throat
I do this a lot now
I try to focus
fingertipstypeonmy4head
thinking
waitforitwaitforit
i spend so much time doing something that I hate
my mind numbs
i go home
and spend so many hours searching for things
exposing/illuminating myself to so much
information
i have learned
so much
after
work

Thank you SO MUCH, Mystery Box...............REALLY.

"There flooded in the perception of something in the sky. I wasn’t on LSD or any other drug, not at the time; just this deprivation of the sense of other living things about me. What I saw was some form of evil deity…not living but functioning; not looking so much as scanning, like a machine or monitor. It had slotted eyes and always hung over one particular spot. I’ve used it for the title of my next-but-one story, A Scanner Darkly.

I don't know how much beauty I can stuff into my head anymore...I can't keep track of it all. I have to make lists of my lists and I'm electric and listless...SOMEDAY, I will miss this.

image
It all kinda started at Christmas when my sons and I were hanging ornaments on the tree.  We have an ornament that is a little electric guitar and my six-year-old son was looking at it and asked, “What’s this Dad?”
I said, “What??? It’s an electric guitar.”
To which he replied, “What’s that?”
Well, I was kinda horrified so I ran downstairs and pulled out an old hollowbody electric (that is my wife’s), an amp and I came upstairs, plugged it in and ripped into “My Generation” by The Who. Well, my one son actually climbed me in point 2 seconds and leaped off my shoulders while the other one looked like I had plugged the lights on the tree into him. They flew around the room dancing for two straight wonderful hours. I got the point. I grew up playing only electric and it was like remembering how to be free. For many reasons, it was so needed. So I got free.
The next week I headed into my studio and recorded “City Of Ghosts” and away I went. I wrote about the war and being a parent in “The Field”, two topics close to my heart. I wrote about being a teenager and how heavy that time can feel and how it can shape the path you take. So, gratitude is in there somewhere. I wrote about doubts and fear, about God and Spirit, and about hope and possibility and things that are elusive and hard to name. I wrote mostly about them, and they came into the room like angels and beasts.
This whole time I knew the record would be called Blood Of Man. I also kept hearing two phrases in my head during recording. Maybe you can decipher them, for I know not where they come from or what they mean exactly: “Do you remember when the world was young?” and “In the beginning there was blood on the lamb.” Whew.
I wrote about how hard it is to be 34 and be a parent and sane and married and true and positive and yourself and a man and funny and a decent person and a not decent person and human and in love. I turned the music up so loud so often that my ears rang every night. I wrote about death, of course. I wrote about life. I wrote about pain and addiction. And I let it flow and left it raw. I worked fast and I let my heart lead.
I guess I have come to the point in my life and my art where I just want to make music that I love and not mess with it. If people dig it: cool. If not: cool. I will be making it anyway. I have to. I realized that too. By the grace of god: I have to make music. More importantly: I get to.
Also, before anything, I am a music listener. So, this record has not been messed with in any way. What you have is exactly the music I listen to in my van and the way I have given it to my friends on CD-Rs. My hope is that it can help where help is needed. Music saved my life and I am so grateful for it. Thank you for listening. Rock.
Mason Jennings
Minnesota

Thursday, October 22, 2009

wakeup, kiddo



and he lost it for a bit - maybe for a loooooong time
maybe he didn't know what he was doing
maybe he now knows a little bit more than before
but still wishes for more back then
and maybe he needs to practice getting up everyday
and needs to create new reasons to do so
he is not pretty
and life can be quite ugly at times
and this is crap
but it is what it is
and it looks all blocky and weird and bad writing-y
but he likes it
at least for now
he will never get awards or praise for his writing
he's a bit better at making you laugh when you're getting a drink
and don't tell me to smile
because when you see me, I'm not sad
I'm just not an extension of your fun that night
I want to take away Kyle's pain this Friday because of his break up
I want to be a good friend and to be better at it
I need to buy black pajamas for my Halloween outfit tomorrow
and am excited to pass out candy to the neighborhood kids
I'm still excited about that commercial that I'm going to be in
and want to visit you in Austin, Santa Maria, SF, Orlando, Baltimore, New Ringold, Brooklyn, McAllen, Baltimore, Downtown L.A. and in the year 1971, 1865 and 1993
he doesn't get it and never did
he was pedaling a bike with no tires
and searching for gold on Mars
wakeup, kiddo

before it goes
before you can't catch up with the rest of the crowd
and the donkeys refuse your carrots
and before you run out of things to say

he needs to
wakeup, kiddo
he needs to
wakeup, kiddo

Ahhh...

But bad poetry can sometimes be GOOD poetry, can't it?

but

Not TONIGHT.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Dumping ground

from my p k d tour 2009
to
the buddhist temples
to
my r w a

needs to be done

these are notes to myself

and not for you

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Tuesday, October 06, 2009

Saturday, September 26, 2009

bis vincit qui se vincit in victoria



He conquers twice who conquers himself in victory

im the guy

right now

writing about things to write

my soul is the Earth’s sun 8 million years from now

and my heart is chum, constantly thrown into oceans

jotting down ideas

and always writing about writing

and my writing

always takes a lot of rewriting

i’m so tired

and so ready

to cultivate the paddy fields of your mind

mine your ore

and excavate your precious resources

i am big business

when not writing about not writing

you’ll never see my greatest moments

and if you do?

then I’ll see it first

because,

im the guy

right now

writing

trying

Friday, September 25, 2009

Kevynn Malone

If You Were To Die Right Now, How Would You Feel About Your Life?

Tyler Durden just said that. I asked Tyler what he was doing in my living room and he punched me in the face and told me to stop asking sissy questions. I spit out a tooth and said that I wished that he'd blow up all of the credit card company buildings in real life like he did in Fight Club, I could benefit from a little Project Mayhem to eradicate my credit history. Then he kicked me in the eye with his boot heel and said, Kevynn, you have a class of young strong men and women, and they want to give their lives to something. Advertising has these people chasing cars and clothes they don't need. Generations have been working in jobs they hate, just so they can buy what they don't really need. We don't have a great war in our generation, or a great depression, but we do, we have a great war of the spirit. We have a great revolution against the culture. The great depression is our lives. We have a spiritual depression. We have to show these men and women freedom by enslaving them, and show them courage by frightening them. I told him that he was scaring me, and then he grabbed me by the balls and dragged me into a corner of the room.

Right about that time - Charles Bukowski came into the room. He just walked on in, downed a can of Schlitz, crumpled it, and threw it towards the corner that Tyler and I were in. It bounced off of Tyler's shaven head, and I thought that Tyler was going to beat him up, but Tyler just smiled, swatted Buk on the back as he walked on by, told him that he was a big fan, and that he loved Post Office, and then left.

I could hear noise coming from the fridge, and groaningly got up. Buk was already polishing off one of my beers. He stripped down to his boxers and asked me where all the goddamn real booze was. I told him that was all I had, and that did he really believe in a god? He grabbed another one of my beers, kicked off his shoes, and said, I have more faith in my plumber than I do the eternal being. Plumbers do a good job. They keep the shit flowing…and then he disappeared into my bathroom.

I shuffled over to the phone and was about to call 911, when there was a knock at the door. I didn't want to answer it, so I peeped through the peephole. It was Frank Sinatra. Shit, it was Frank - so I opened the door. He looked great. Sharp. His pinky rings twinkled in the moonlight. I invited him in. He grabbed a seat by my fireplace and asked me how my bird was. I told him that I didn't have any pets, except for a bunch of cats. He rolled his eyes and said, no, man - how's your bird and pointed to my crotch. That confused the hell out of me. Why was Frank Sinatra asking about my dick? So, I just told him that my bird was flying around. That seemed to please him immensely. I relaxed a little. Frank was pleased. I was pleased. Maybe Frank could swing me a room in Vegas? Bukowski came out and stank up the whole place. He grabbed another one of my beers and then sat down at my computer. All of my cats instantly congregated around his feet and purred. He asked if I had any decent classical music in the place. I looked at Frank. He nodded slightly, and I tuned the radio to a station that Buk seemed to not mind. Frank asked me how everything else was goin'. I said that I guess that everything else was okay, nothing that exciting. He said that it was good to not be one of those complicated, mixed-up cats looking for the secret to life… just to go on from day to day, and to take what comes…

That seemed to make sense to me. I politely excused myself and told Frank that I thought that I needed to spit out a couple more teeth; did he want me to pick him up some stuff for martinis, or get him some whisky? He told me that he was okay for now, he was waiting for Ava. I got the feeling that he'd be there for a long time, and I left out through the front door to wiggle my loose teeth around. Tyler was in the parking lot of the park across the street, fighting somebody. I didn't want to attract his attention because I was afraid he'd tell me to duke it out with a Puerto Rican busboy. But I ended up walking over to him. Something was bugging me. I needed to tell him something.

He just got finished, and was wiping blood out of his eyes with the heel of his palms.

What do you want, Malone?
You want me to take you shopping or something?
Do you want me to politely ask the world to get off your back?
Are you finally sick of your life?
Are you ready to sacrifice everything
to become the type of person that you're supposed to be?

No, not really, Tyler. I just wanted to answer your question.

What fucking question, Malone?

"If you were to die right now, how would you feel about your life?"

Yeah…and...?

I'd feel fine.
I guess I should go out and do something. I just put down the book. I've flaked on two things tonight - an engagement dinner and meeting some out-of-town friends for a different dinner. I think I'm also supposed to hang out with two other people but I don't really remember how my conversations went with them because I have a horrible memory and I tend to drink too little. Why do I do this? I Gollum myself in my dark room, feeling miserable at times and at other times, I'm oh-so-fucking happy and loving my life and biting into my raw fish.

I'm going to get ready now, out of guilt more than anything else. I'll be thinking about my book though and of this quiet room and then when I'm all done, when all of the conversations, laughter, hugs and drinks are all doneanddone - I'll be right back where I was when I was typing this...

In this room
precious womb

Thursday, September 24, 2009



drink up, baby, stay up all night
the things you could do, you won't but you might
the potential you'll be, that you'll never see
the promises you'll only make

drink up with me now and forget all about the pressure of days
do what I say and I'll make you okay and drive them away
the images stuck in your head

people you've been before that you don't want around anymore
that push and shove and won't bend to your will
I'll keep them still

drink up, baby, look at the stars
I'll kiss you again between the bars where I'm seeing you
there with your hands in the air, waiting to finally be caught

drink up one more time and I'll make you mine
keep you apart deep in my heart separate from the rest
where I like you the best and keep the things you forgot

the people you've been before that you don't want around anymore
that push and shove and won't bend to your will
I'll keep them still


Your sorry eyes, they cut through bone.
They make it hard to leave you alone.
Leave you here wearing your wounds
Waving your guns at somebody new.

Baby Im a lost
Baby Im a lost
Baby Im a lost cause.

Theres too many people you used to know
They see you coming they see you go.
They know your secrets and you know theirs
This town is crazy, but nobody cares.

Baby Im a lost
Baby Im a lost
Baby Im a lost cause.
Im tired of fighting
Im tired of fighting
Fighting for a lost cause

Theres a place where you are going
You aint never been before
Theres no one laughing at your back now
No one standing at your door
Is that what you thought love was for?

Baby Im a lost
Baby Im a lost
Baby Im a lost cause
Im tired of fighting
Im tired of fighting
Fighting for a lost cause.

Monday, September 21, 2009

ido



I don't care if I'm up too late
I don't care about what I'm eating
I may be hedonistic
shallow
abusive
not motivated
I make mistakes
I'm compulsive
I'm weak
I won't be a good father
or a good mate, mate
I may not be the droid you're looking for

I may be Voltron in reverse
onebigROBOTseperatedinmanypieces
I may be totally stupid and full of shit
I don't think so, though...

I may be writing on the interweb
about personal stuff
ithink
ido
really
likemylife
finally

ido
really

I don't care if I'm up too late

He who tries to forget a woman, never loved her...

Which one are you?

The one I miss now?

Or the one I loved before?








reposted! :)

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

posumeezeemsgoogleplex

I'm not insane.

Just yelling at them to not eat Marcel's food.
One almost came into my room the other night...

DUDE!

This kid is back AGAIN!

I JUSTJUST yelled at him, like...WHAT? 15 seconds ago?

I can always tell if it's an Opossum because of the sound of the way that they eat and the way that the food grinds against their teeth.

I don't hate them.

It just gives me something to do, to be honest.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Blue Lion.

You wanted an avalanche of progress and not the glacier-like reality

Monday, September 07, 2009

Green Lion.

On the front porch watching the sprinklers. It reminds me of childhood...except that I'm not trying to hump bedposts and basketball poles.

Yellow Lion.

The only phone call that I got today was from an older Italian gal that comes into my work. She's really sweet. I didn't pick up the phone because I hate long conversations. She was wondering and hoping if I got enough sleep today after my horrible night last night and I did get a lot of sleep. I almost got up early but then thought to myself...ehhhh, what's the point? I do this everyday but today especially because it's Labor Day.

Wheeee!!!!

The house is quiet today and I'm peckingly watching snippets of Band of Brothers on TV - which is depressing. I never turn the thing on. I was actually considering playing a video game but I play the things once every five months or so. Now that I think about it....what do I do? I work, I stay up late and fuck around on the computer, I hang out late with Patrick and walk, rarely jog and sometimes drive around a bit?

I want to dodge bullets. I want to teach a child how to spit properly. I want to learn how to make flaming arrows. I want you to play the piano while I sing. I want to go skydiving again. I want you to take me to an arcade and the batting cages. I want to write a story with you. I want a puppy. I want to go camping. I want you to buy me a bunch of paint and for you to give me a big canvas. I want to go to another bug fair. I want to watch chimpanzees look at me looking at them look at me. I want to play the Star Wars Drinking Game. I want you to beat me in chess and to punch me in the chest.

The house is quiet today.

Red Lion.

Beezus Christ - I'm still here. Still not writing, still talking about not writing when I'm writing and still not writing the things that I should be writing.

Monday, August 31, 2009

thinkingofmoving

And when I'm here
and when I put words down again
and when sometimes
I think that I know what I'm going to say
it gets lost right before the fingers start to type
even if my mind had already begun to write

I thought, tonight that
for once
it might, be alright
to entertain the notion
of writing elsewhere

And when I'm there
and roots are planted once again
and when I'm thinking that I want to go back

I'll think, that night that
wow
it just might, be alright
to entertain the notion
of finally writing

about the things that I always
meant to write about when

I was there

And I'll be far, far away

from here

Sunday, August 23, 2009

LION CUB...


Do you remember how we met?
Silhouetted by the lights...
You were drunk and tried to take a mental picture with your hands
I was thinking about that
And a bunch of other things
Stop looking at the floor...
I need to pour out this expansive dose of words.

I can't explain...
I need to be alone.

I know the timing isn't great
But these things, you just can't plan.
I just need a little time
So I can find myself again
'Cause I get buried underneath
All the things they think you are
And I'm too tired to pretend it doesn't hurt
To be left out

I had a pocket full of dreams
But I gave them all to you
Now I think I want them back
So can you tell me if I'm crazy or confused?
Don't ever change
The way you are
I've never loved anyone more.

Saturday, August 22, 2009



A guitar string broke

rightbeforeyoushowedup
and
rightafteryouleftmyhouse

I about threw down
more melodies
more lyrics in my head

soon to be forgotten
is it best
to let dead be dead?

Our odd is pretty odd
so that makes us pretty even
You may be god to my say ten

I meant my satan to my god
my god, my god
times ten

Oh, dog
nehw? nehw?

A string rewinded in my heart
tonight at night
and the heart string you plucked
isbackagainbackagain

ready to played
againandagain
ready to played
againandagain
ready to played
againandagain


andagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagainandagain

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

re re post

Writing

On pages 9 and 10 of his book Bagombo Snuff Box: Uncollected Short Fiction, Vonnegut listed eight rules for writing a short story:

1. Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted.

2. Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for.

3. Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water.

4. Every sentence must do one of two things -- reveal character or advance the action.

5. Start as close to the end as possible.

6. Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them -- in order that the reader may see what they are made of.

7. Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia.

8. Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Follow the bubbles...

*GASP!*

I broke the surface.

My aching lungs filled with oxygen.

I started walking towards the shore.

To dry land.

Home.

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

I love my cheapy-ass UKULELE but will probably buy a better one by next week. Yet, I suck at playing the guitar - go figure...



"The General Specific"

If your trials end, are really getting you down
We had a close call, I didn't even see it, then another one, I hardly believed it at all.
What the writers say, it means shit to me now.
Plants and animals, we're on a bender when it's 80 degrees, the end of December was coming on,
Only for you and me.
When the showing up ends, going back to the south, where hungry necks that I know, and runnin'
A blender in a lightning storm, disguised as a blessing I'm sure.
Knowing up here, there comes a fork in the road, pants have gotta go, we're on an island on
The fourth of July, looks like the tide is going home.
In time I'd find a little way to your heart, down to the general store for nothing specific,
Gonna wash my bones in the Atlantic shore - only for you and me