Fat Free Milk.

I like talking now.

A Collection of Abject Musings ...

I think I could do this for the rest of my life. I just opened a beer and have adjusted myself properly in my chair. Guitars and violins are running through choruses to my left outside my door. Really. It’s amazing to live in a house filled with musicians. They’re wheeling in a xylophone now. It’s also raining – can you believe that?

I know I’ve written about it before but for every bad day there are days like these. Completely wasted, lazy days or nights with no ambitions. Nothing but the next five minutes of your life planned. Floating, vaporous days turned into solid joy.

I spent a year watching sunsets in my old place on Commonwealth, spent years walking my dog in the vast park at the old house and maybe in this house, after all of the heartache, confusion and mistakes I’ve made – maybe what I’ve been practicing slowly will finally turn into one big smile instead of the minutia of tiny smiles that I’ve accumulated here. Maybe in the next place, I’ll look back fondly on days exactly like today.

Kmalo

So, I was going to tell you about how I needed more time to myself in front of the computer and maybe to write and needed a little bit more time to get work out of system and that my friend, Pat invited me down to his work and I thought that it would be nice to get out of the house because everybody else seemed to be doing something either interesting or NON and why not, eh?

And as I was about to write this, he just texted me to come down and I think I might so I better hurry up.

I just wrote this post in two minutes, me thinks.

Bye.

Lovelove

Just Found This On Somebody Else's Website?

I barely remember writing this. Neat.

Bye.

fatfreemilk@gmail.com

There will never be enough time to

A Journey - By Edward Field

When he got up that morning everything was different:
He enjoyed the bright spring day
But he did not realize it exactly, he just enjoyed it.


And walking down the street to the railroad station
Past magnolia trees with dying flowers like old socks
It was a long time since he had breathed so simply.


Tears filled his eyes and it felt good
But he held them back
Because men didn't walk around crying in that town.


Waiting on the platform at the station
The fear came over him of something terrible about to happen:
The train was late and he recited the alphabet to keep hold.


And in its time it came screeching in
And as it went on making its usual stops,
People coming and going, telephone poles passing,

He hid his head behind a newspaper
No longer able to hold back the sobs, and willed his eyes
To follow the rational weavings of the seat fabric.


He didn't do anything violent as he had imagined.

He cried for a long time, but when he finally quieted down
A place in him that had been closed like a fist was open,

And at the end of the ride he stood up and got off that train:
And through the streets and in all the places he lived in later on
He walked, himself at last, a man among men,
With such radiance that everyone looked up and wondered.

Nothing makes you feel weirder and older
than singing in a laundry room with a gaggle of underage girls
Thank you for the Disney songs, kids
Thank you for saying that you thought that I was twenty-five
and maybe no thank you for saying that I looked like Luke Perry from 90210

I shouldn't have been there, I guess.

You forgot your Gnome.

We have more bikes in the backyard than monthly visitors now.

Tonight, the moon was bigger than I've ever seen it before.

My ears have been plugged up for days.

I played a video game for six hours today and didn't pick up ONE book.

Thanks, Kyle.

on a beautiful, deserted island
building a boat

slowly

Now I saw,

though too late, the folly of beginning a work before we count the cost, and before we judge rightly of our own strength to go through with it.


1. The only reason that my name is spelled “Kevynn” sometimes is because I started it when I was 16 and really started to write a bunch of Emo thoughts, poems and stories into notebooks. Back then I only spelled it with one “N”. I kind of helped me out when I started doing a lot of Content and PR work for a bunch of failed TEH Interweb/nets companies and embarrassing music magazines. Nice to use your real name when you’re writing for new companies and not to be Googly-haunted by Bloggy, random articles, posts and blargh blargfh with the Emo one.

2. I only reason that I exist is because my father worked doing secret, secret stuff for an agency that only has three letters and because my mother was super hot and because he knocked her up. My brother was born in Vietnam and my older half brother was born in Bolivia. I would like to thank Che Guevara, Ho Chi Minh and all of Communism for this award.

3. I wear contacts and hate wearing glasses. Even though I like how I look in glasses. Sometimes. Glasses suck. Try to lay your head down sideways and watch 30 Rock with glasses, bitch.

4. I’ve always been this thin – but my weight fluctuates based on what’s going on in my life.

5. I hate talking on the phone. Hate it.

6. I usually don’t know that I’m speaking until somebody asks me what I meant, laughs or frowns.

7. I will die on the freeway sitting in the passenger seat.

8. I’ve lived in haunted houses more than once. I’ll tell you stories if you buy me a comic book and tell me that you like my shoes.

9. One of my eyes is lighter than the other.

10. I like Atari Teenage Riot and Crass.

11. I don’t know what I’m doing.

12. I miss playing in punk/surf bands.

13. I’ve always had Deja-Vu. It gets so bad sometimes that if I shut my mouth than I can silently watch everything that I know that will happen…happen. It drives me nuts but at the most, it only goes from 15 seconds to 30 minutes. What do you do with this? Nothing. Sometimes I know what you’re going to say. If you’re by me next time, I’ll write it down and show you later. Lame, I know – but true.

14. I never had much but AMAZING friends. I’ve never had any guidance. Especially in the last 15 years. I’ll take this over a solid family structure anyday.

15. I was homeless more than once and traveled via Greyhound across the USA and used to sleep in parks, friend’s cars, schools, park benches and used to sray up at 24-hour donut shops. AND more and more and more awesome places. Yay!

16. I have bad knees because of skateboarding when I was a wee tyke and have crappy, broken ankles. I walk like a young Benjamin Button when I wake up but it gets better in about fifteen minutes and I don’t hobble so bad.

17. I don’t have any family that lives in California.

18. I have amazing hand/eye coordination and amazing balance and aim. Really, it’s uncanny. I’ll show you…

19. I am a horse whisperer.

20. I always have to have something to drink. Water, juice, soda – anything. I can’t not have water or something by me. I’m either weird or OCD or my kidneys hate me or all of these things combined.

21. I have probably fallen asleep to Empire Strikes Back 300 and something times.

22. I paint about ONE picture every year.

23. I know a lot about comic books. More than anybody that you know.

24. I believe that right now, things will make themselves right in progressive, snail-like increments. I hope to look back on my newly-created phosphorescent trails and smile…happy to see how far I’ve travelled.

25. I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas. My fingers are Santa's little helpers. My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments. I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn. Sisyphus, sweating uphill. Bukowski, scribbling away in rooming houses. A river always flowing. I am the nightmare of stagnancy and the god of imagination. Not really... I'm just tired And Full Of Poo...

Who's scruffy-lookin'?

I'm a hungry Wampa without a Tantaun
Chewbacca without a Bowcaster
Greedo with good aim
Salacious Crumb without the cackle
A Sarlaac without a pitt
Boba without the jet pack
Echo Station without a shield generator
A Snow Speeder without a tow cable
I am Dantooine without the millions of voices suddenly crying out in terror that were suddenly silenced
I am a Land Speeder without the vaseline smeared glob beneath my wheels
R2-D2 incessantly chirping
I do not know how big I've grown eating food of this kind
I am the crying Rancor Keeper
I am Yak and Prune Face
I am Sy Snootles without The Max Rebo Band
I am a Gundark without ears
I am Darth Vader without asthma and an Emperor without finger-tipped lightning bolts
Jabba without delectable frogs and Bib Fortuna without the head tentacles
Watto without wings
John without the Williams
Leia sans slave outfit
I am Dagobah without its swamps
Bantha without the poodoo
and I'm a dud of a Thermal Detonator
I have convinced my new master to take of my restraining bolt
I am Aunt Beru and Uncle Owen without Tupperware glasses
I can't make the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs
I am the ninth moon of Endor
I am Jimmy Smits as Bail Organa
I am Kit Fisto, Plo Kloon and that other Jedi guy dying like bitches
I am the fat, dancing Twilek in Jabba's Palace
I am the bone in your Rancor's teeth
I am Jek Porkins dying in a shower of sparks
I am Industrial Light and Reality
Luke screaming, Yes! That's true! Yes, it is possible!
A tank without Bacta
An AT-AT without armor plating
Ewoks without a village
and Han Solo without a bounty over his head
4-LOM without Zuckuss
I am a canceled Boonta Eve race
and a quadrapelegic Wookie wanting to rip off your arms
I am the Star Wars Holiday Christmas Special
and a swarm of sucking Mynocks
I have a bad feeling about this

and

I am not the droid you're looking for.

Thankthegodsfortheglimmerof hope
atleastinthenextpairofeyes
thatlookat me
they'llsee you
andmycataracts
andispeakslower now
withlessenergytheysay
Thankthegodsfortheglimmerof hope
atleastinthenextpairofeyes

Mark MacGavern

is the homeless man that I met tonight as I was walking home
he gave me a good book list
was calm and pleasant to talk to
I told him that I had tried to volunteer at one of our local churches
I was curious what he needed and invited him to my house
I have all of my old clothes that don't fit me anymore, canned goods and a lot of Hagan's old camping equipment, a sleeping bag, etc.
I gave him money that he reluctantly accepted
and tried to give him my Steinbeck
he wasn't interested and showed me what he was reading
All he needs is hot, washed blankets
Now, I have that covered
and I spent two hours in the cold on a bench with him
just because I said hello
Mark looks like Rasputin and Zack Galafinakis
we
talked
man to man
about words
books
family
feelings
regrets
we are
both strong men

I'm sorry to see how things have gone in my life lately
but I never would've had this moment tonight
if I hadn't already fucked up the one I had

good
bad

but I remembered the old me from a long time ago
and I think the one that you loved

The one that I LOVED

Thank you, Mark.

Bukowski? You're still not my friend. I've re-read this eight times and don't know how I feel about this...

blasphemy of love

in my beginning
as with every human
being, we're
born early
into the truest sense
of the word NEED.

I was given the sustenance
of existence
until I was able to live without
any further original need
and so I boldly, naively believing
and brightly blazing
thrust myself
forward into life, filled
with an insatiable apatite
for self reliance, with
an almost curiously anti-dependant
desire; to be whole
without any outside force,
to rely on nothing
and no one else.

I searched and settled
and pondered and cursed thin air
and most often through the years I've
found myself in life
continuously fighting an almost
insurmountable surreal desire-
to be
needed by another...
I've finally come to know now unequivocally
that I am NOT, never
have been
and never will be.

I am a man, but I am not a leader
nor a follower or a Father.

through disenchantment and heartbreak,
through disappointment and
disillusionment, through false promises
given by and taken from me
through the whole of my
self-sustained life
it has ultimately
led me back within myself-
clarity has come for me
through a disintigration of truth
an obliteration of hope
a caricature of self
a malignancy of soul
and a blasphemy of love
most people know
every fire needs fuel
to continue,
or it must succumb
to an inevitable
cool weightless ash
and a dissipating smoke.

my dilemma has been that
I feel no need to seed
another human
into being
in need
of
original love to survive,
to endure another plight of life
in utter ultimate
useless
needlessness...
so to those I've loved I can only say this:
"I knew I wanted to be with you,
but I never needed you,
I thought you might have needed me,
but you didn't and you don't.

I apologize for not knowing that
better back then.

but I promise you this
My Loves,

it'll never happen again.

Nitro!

fatfreemilk@gmail.com

The Mall On Haunted Hill...

The Mall On Haunted Hill...

The absolute wondrous horror of what was a rare Orange County mall experience for myself is today, losing its luster - so I might as well try to jot down what I can remember -

In Southern California, there are people. A lot of them. All attached to some type of device that transmits IMPORTANT relayed messages to their brain. Sometimes these PEOPLE fill up their tiny seconds with their IMPORTANT blabby-crap and sometimes forget to do things like say, HELLO, THANK YOU, EXCUSE ME, YOU'RE WELCOME, YES, NO, JUNIOR-DON'T-RUN-OUT-INTO TRAFFIC, etc. They also forget to drive faster, slower, at all and usually with any consideration towards the other millions of other dumb-dumby, spinning people driving out on the streets also. Sometimes their cars mirror the slow, congealing drips of mollasses inside their driver's skulls. Sometimes I point at these people while they go about their very important coffee retrieval and goods-purchasing daily sprees. Sometimes I don't point because there are a lot of bigger dinosaurs in this Pangeaic park of mine and I plan on settling into a nice, bubbly tar pit someday. I don't want anybody to fuck with that. I have plans. Rawrrr.

This is getting too long...

I only went to the mall after dinner to make my girlfriend happy. Her mall is my comic book store, but without the fast food smell, pimply teenagers and fat, sweaty men. Actually, both the mall and comic book stores have these type of people, but at least the mall is more spread out.

At the mall:

Clothing and accessories, when I rarely want them - are very easy for me to find. Not because I'm easy to please, but because my actual size in clothing never, ever actually gets bought by real humans beings because nobody is my size. My sizes are everywhere and always knocked down from a high price to a very, very LOW price. I don't know why they make these sizes. Why make clothes that fit drug-addict or tall Ethiopian builds? Or Ethiopian drug-addict builds?

I get bored easily if I'm in a store that doesn't interest me. I can't sit down and be patient. I whine a lot and walk and walk around the perimeter of the usually-a-women's-clothing-store and pretend not to be a gay guy looking at clothes.

I went to an Apple Store for my first time and was completely horrified and amazed at existence of the whole poopy thing. Welcome to the future, Gramps.

The bathrooms looked better than some L.A. clubs than I've been in. Actually, DUH. Nicer than ANY L.A./Hollywood clubs. (this is the part where friends who don't read this snicker because how often do I go to Hollywood or LA LA?)

2b continued after i read this incredible hulk comic...

Ummm..there were security guards on Segways.

Boring now. The End.