The part of me I call "vain Ken" likes this piece as the quintessential introduction. I wrote it back in college and keep trotting it out, almost completely unchanged, whenever I feel I might snag a reader. And JUST because I can, I'm going to show off a piece that nearly must be heard read aloud to be appreciated, which I call "Rabbit Chase." I guess I'm rushing things, 'cause I don't want to spend any more time looking for a version of Rabbit that's been fully converted from what I
call the anticonventional format.. you'll see what I mean.

-craftsmanshit-

Please allow me to introduce myself; I'm a fan of stealth and waste. That's a parphrasing of the first two lines of and old Rolling Stones' song, "Sympathy for the Devil." I used that paraphrase and the attendant explanation to form a tenuous connection to an essay I wrote titled, "It's Only Mindless Drivel (But I Like It)."
That title is a paraphrasing of a Stone's song's title, "It's Only Rock and Roll (But I like it)." I submittted "It's Only Mindless Drivel" to a professor who was expecting a persuasive essay. I thought, and still believe, that "..Mindless Drivel" was hugely amusing and monstrously interesting, but it was not persuasive. The prof rejected my essay. But she suggested a topic: "Persuade me that your work is fascinating."
The suggestion seemed like an invitation to combine two of my favorite activities - writing and writing about writing. Slinging ink, is a process that fascinates me. I think that I can make the product fascinating for a reader.
Readers, as a group, are nosy people. My style of spontaneous composition is perfectly suited to nosy readers. It's confessional; every word is a revelation. Every revelation is not necessarily a bombshell, but each one is an intimacy. When I sit down with a pen in my hand and paper under the pen, my essence leaks out of my fingers onto the page. The reader is an eavesdropper. Nosy people love to eavesdrop.
As a rule, I enjoy, even encourage, engaging a surreptitious audience. I enjoy the engagement even more if I can surreptitiously observe this surreptitious reader's reaction to my work. I'm nosy, too.
When I sit down to write, I listen for internal rhythms. As words appear on the page, I look for opportunities to insert clever constructions, such as alliteration and parallelism. Or a metaphor. Invariably, my train of thought is derailed by my having to find a dictionary to check the spelling of some polysyllabic monstrosity that I couldn't resit pitching on the the page.
I like to write. I thrive on the approval of my reader. Occasionally, though, I am intentionally obscure. Sometimes I feel like revealing a part of me that may lessen the reader's approval. To facilitate my candor, I have a couple of gimmicky affectations designed to weed out casual eavesdroppers. One of the gimmicks is to write from bottom-to-top on the page; another is to write small -- two lines of my scrawl in each ruled space. Sometimes I use those affectations together. By making my work hard to read, I force the reader to justify the extra effort to do so. Justification requires investment, the investment reflects interest, the interest equals approval .
I like to write an I think I'm good at it. I almost always use a conversational tone because it conveys intimacy and I believe that intimacy, like justification, requires the reader to invest some part of himself in the activity of reading.
I think I'm a good writer. I think that what makes me good is my willingness to take risks. I don't mean risking my reader's rejection; I fear that. I mean I don't mind experimenting with eclectic syntactical constructions. But immodesty is unbecoming.
This exercise in self-congratulation is not what I had in mind when I sat down with "Sympathy For the Devil" running through my mind; it illustrates, though, one of the main reasons why my work is fascinating: unpredictability. Predictable is boring. I am sitting in the indefinite "here," waiting to see which word appears next on the page.
I never cease to be amazed at my own ability to put one word after another. When I get bogged down or "blocked," as writers say, I describe the block and the pen keeps moving. The process and the product are fascinating.

and now w/out fanfare or exlanation.. Rabbit Chase

gonna fill myself w/dread resentment and guilt i think the phrase sil used was obsessive depression there.s a story there but it.s not the one i came to tell when i was stepping out of the shower i s.pose i.d latched onto an idea like um jen and i are not close and never intimate i.d been listening to the racket in my head somehow rattling guilty sabres considering glynda.s to thine ownself mantra i.d been telling my sincerest confidant about wanting to please my wife of needing her to recognize my love hungering to hear her say i love you glynda often takes me to task for the guilt i.m wont to heap on m.self and rc lately her counsel.s focused on vain ken the needy ratboy seeking approval external gratification she says make peace w/your self know that you.re good and i.ve picked up my towel started drying my hair face ears there.s an echo of glynda tellin. me jen will never leave me and then a response but tess did my chest tightens my throat.s burnin. which turns out to be goblin hands reachin. up from w/in tryin. to snatch those horrid words back that utterance scaly long nailed fingers clawin. out from deep down inside my gut and up behind my lips to snatch those three words back and the grab.s foiled by the wracking sob annadeafening shout it.s not like that it WASN.T like that i.m sobbing before the still wet foot hits the cold tiled floor snot fingers hangin. from my moustache drippin. across my cursed lips and so that really really creepy admission of inappropriate ness really really creepy like how is that kinda stuff resolved it goes straight to the core of my relationshit w/my spouse and questions how i feel how i ever felt about jen i.ve long ago realized i was cycling out out a year.s depression when i met jen and what is real is the ink real what i mean viot is or has meaning am i weak are my fears real are yours life is so daily is it all about attitude about how we choose to feel about our circumstances and how about the choices that create the circumstances i.ve chased that rabbit for a while particularly in the context of the obsess and viot choices i must have made and the feelings that arose in me i.m tellin. ya there.s a larger consideration some factor greater than attitude although the matter of personally individualized meaning could account for my pain ouch my pain individual mean ness wellemmetellya buddy i guess i picked it and metaphorically picked at it .til it bled
it.s the relentless pursuit of fun i s.pose my proclivity for placing such a high premium on viot feels good @ the rc moment and f.sure all the shit well most of it anyway associated w/the obsess was fun and i knew as i took each step down that trail that it was fraught w/peril and so yeah choices and attitude so rcnow i.ve saddled m.self w/the pet psychosis prone to senseless weeps and anger misdirected cool once more i.ve proven my hypothesis that i know the answer if i can form the question that really doesn.t make me feel much better tho. i reckon it.s the guilt which is a thing a value quality burden i.ve elected or assigned as payment maybe hmm that.s quite fucked up maybe i did it to make a lie of my proposition that thought crimes aren.t prosecutable i can see how i could do that anniguess i JUST explained why but it still doesn.t make a whole lotta sense and even if or when i get my mind around it i don.t feel much better so viot kind of understanding izzat sortalike lupus of the mind attacking itself using your own defenses to wage war against itself oh yeah plenty fucked up i like the lupus metaphor that.s nifty especially in the wake of the rabbit chase i should get those lines transed and maybe embellished a bit y.know brush and rub
and so i did the rabbit chase went up at a muse under the heading and so i did that mustabeen mon and that day before i left school i made a too quick check of the f.list leaving comments on rc posts from ariel and sil sil.s was a mem thingy that encouraged the reader to move the bit to their own site afer leaving a comment annidid that too so rcnow i.m manic there.s kinda no doubt about it i am past feelin. JUST okay and y.know i wouldn.t mind except i can tell it.s the cycle swingin. up and i.m not comfortable cycling this is the context of the real feelings string up down manic depressive viot.s appropriate viot.s the response where.s the baseline and viot.s the curve is there like a sliding gauge some slippery value that plugs into some equation where the baseline or usual norm is zero and viot i feel rage or joy is adjusted by where i am in the cycle to yield a true or real feeling ah pondering well wise guy i formed the question viot.s the answer hmm lemme draw a physics analogy and insert heisenberg.s famous uncertainty you can gauge your mood to a fine point but not calculate your position on the cycle w/the same precision or you can plot the spot on the cycle w/greater accuracy and fudge some on the mood the factors correlate roughly w/position and motion ooh i.m impressed it.s like you were camped out and waiting for that question
let.s spark the home machine and see if any of the triad of tracks i left @ el jay today has generated any y.mail imean really i try to keep from looking @ my posts as personal referendums but i still do oh hey i left four or five notes in the ether how could i not have several messes in the box there are four a couple of replies to posts coming from nam and tess replies to comments from sil and tess i.m delighted i read the four promising m.self i.ll craft replies in the morrow man the connection w/those women is such an emotional rush i really can.t imagine not ever having it or never having it again seeing their words on my screen even thru. tears after tess. commentary reminds me that in the relentless pursuit of fun those li.l nuggets of external gratification are unmatched adrenaline gold yeah buddy way up on the thrill meter that.s why i did it that.s why i.d do it again So, I s'pose, despite my incessant whining about the damage done to my marriage, I - honestly - value my personal jollies more than my covenants with Jen and Jesus. That's a tough admission, and one I'm not nearly comfortable making; so lemme rush in a qualifier like, it's not that I love them less but that I love me more. I reckon that's still awfully mean, but it is the awful truth. Do I get any points for recognizing that all of my blessings and the joy in my life is, was, have or has been made possible and magnified by the presence and influence of my wife and my Lord? Hmm, prob'ly not, since both pretty much insist on their preeminence in my life. Well, it's quite a quandary, something to work on or work out. When I intellectualize this argument, I always come down in favor of the covenants, and for sure that's the source of my guilt.. 'cause of that thing about my deeds making lies of my words and maybe I'm masochistic enough to get as many grins from guilt as from the fun that generates it. Ooh, nifty li'l pseudo insight that prob'ly oughta get grafted onto the rabbit chase. It's good, it's related, annif I go back to "..checking the y.box.." and paste carefully, it'll be poignant.
I don't think I quite hit the "poignant" mark; there's not enough anguish over how the guilty funs effects either my salvation or my marriage. Those relationshits are eerily similar and yet break sharply along the lines of viot to do with guilt. I am almost constantly aware that Jesus is watching - that he knows my heart.. my motives.. and of course, sees all I do. Anni've said, Jen knows all. I have no secrets from her; tho' I b'lieve she allows me to shield some aspects she finds especially abhorrent. Jesus wants me to confess -with my mouth.. to point out.. acknowledge - where I've let's say strayed and, similarly, wants me to ask forgiveness, which is freely given. Not asking is evidence of my faithless ness. But I am comforted knowing that he loves this sinner. Jen, though, sees my confession very differently.. as if I'm bragging about the betrayals. Forgiveness is not forthcoming. But I can, and should, look forward to my words coming back to me as proof of my unfaithfulness. And I pitifully wonder how she CAN love one so unable or unwilling to protect the things she values. Instead, at every turn, risking job.. marriage.. security.. in the relentless pursuit of fun. So, Jen prob'ly won't leave. I don't want her to, but I wonder if she stays because she's so heavily invested in me - giving her heart and spirit to forge home and family - and stays because I've trapped her, taking all of her, but fearfully unwilling to give as fully of myself. Here is more awful truth - in the twenty-five years we have slept and loved and fought and lived together, we have never once prayed together.
Hmm, still not poignant enough. Within a few hours of writing viot I figgered was the last line, "..never once prayed.." Sweet Jen woke me for a couple of hours of cuddle and conversation which led to kissing, clutching, gasping.. then more sweet conversation. I mentioned my idea of taking her out on a thirty five-dollar date, which is the copay for the el tee; she told me she noticed that a drive in theater JUST opened a few miles up the highway.
Oh yeah, I love my wife.

-km-