Tag: creative nonfiction

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     You’ve always worried this might happen to you.

     At seven years old, up past your usual bedtime to watch Beverly Hills 90210 with your mom, you watched, peeking through the gaps of your bony fingers, it happen to Kelly Taylor. She begged and pleaded with her rapist, a shadowy figure in black who trapped, beat, and forced himself upon her in a dark alley. Your heart pounded faster than it did during the mile run in P.E. You wanted to cry. You felt so nauseous you almost lost mom’s goulash all over her clean sheets.

     You didn’t sleep at all that night.

     You watched it happen again one Sunday morning a couple years later. It was a made for TV movie on TBS. A man gets a call—his wife is in the emergency room with a broken arm after being gang raped in an abandoned metropolitan warehouse. He rushes to the ER, thankful, at least, that she is alive. When he arrives, though, she has died. The injury to her arm had severed some important artery.

     What. The. Fuck.
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Behind the Gateway Shopping Center
Portland Oregon 1971

Something in man’s form
hunted small boys
like me

Would melt away
when I would spot him
by the billboard

Unless he had already
seized prey
his words to them still venom to me

Take it, or you’re going to get hurt.
If it won’t fit, play with it.
Grab it fast. Grab it fast! (more…)

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Prologue/

How can writing be linear? It evades the bounds of time, creates its own change within itself, harms itself, heals itself, transcends itself. Writing is influenced by nothing more than the mind, no external or variable factors besides the ones that inhabit the mind. Writing is exhibiting the word-illustrations of the mind, which contains implacable meaning, cannot help itself or do anything besides meaning. The mind and the brain may be two vastly dissimilar things in regards to writing and meaning.

My organs aren’t real, and I know that, we’ve never met, they seem standoffish and busy.

Todos palabras, truly hollow.

All good writing is really just poetry, and poetry is painting mind pictures using words, thus creating an image, and time and order has no place within images, since images remain the same images regardless of their position in time.

Writing uses a juxtaposition of associations that relate to one another to indicate or replicate time, but postulate for a single shining moment that all could be seen and realized, no longer a limited perception, rather an omniscient perception of all at once. An extinguishment of the practice of writing simulating oral storytelling and instead developing a truthful juxtaposition of word-images that inherently entail ideas. A word-portrait. /
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As a mentally ill writer and artist? I’m a disability porn star. With an online peepshow window of masturbatory personal essays. Lucky my only sex work is metaphoric. Given my mind is broken, I’m surprised not to have to sell my body. I survive by government Disability benefits and familial patronage. Comfort my shame with art therapy.

College poet friends were consumed by the Portland sex industry. Wipe the Nars Orgasm Blush and Urban Decay Heavy Metal Glitter Eyeliner off my face? Narrowly escaped stripper stares back. I wrote erotica for San Francisco rent money before that porn site went out of business. Failed even at sex work. Never learned how to work that pole. Missed my window. Is it sad? (more…)