Down the Drain

'Hey how r u? Haven't texted you in a bit. Hope all is well.'

She folded up her phone and tried not to check it seconds later for a response.

The quiet of the apartment was disturbed by the gurgle from the sink. Since the day she moved in she'd been unable to get the super to come in and take a look at it. She's poured Drain-O, bleach, and boiling hot water into it hoping she'd be able to clear the pipes.

Her hand reached out for her cell phone but she stopped herself as her fingertips brushed up against its hard plastic. She wouldn't let him get the best of her. He'd text back when he was free. Then they'd finally meet up. They'd grab dinner and drinks and go dancing and then...

GURGLE BLOOP BLOP.

That was it. This goddamn sink had gotten on her last nerve. She dug out that snake thing her dad left in her bathroom closet. She had no idea how to use it, but it was time to shove something in there, get whatever muck was making this repulsive noise. She'd finally have some peace and quiet.

After fumbling with it for a few minutes, she fed the line down the drain and kept feeding it down further and further. There was no resistance, though she was in a fury to get it in there and wouldn't have noticed anyways. Eventually she ran out of snake.

She gave it a slight tug and it held firm. It was snagged on something. Then it jerked in her grip. It pulled itself further in. She held it tight and pulled with all her might. But it was no use, it reeled itself in and ripped her right off her feet, smashing her face first into to sink.

Groggily, she tried to lift herself back up but suddenly her face was like putty, melting into a pool, her skin slipping away from her, sliding down into the pipes. Her muscles went slack and she began to dissolve, dripping and oozing her way down the drain. She thought of the foaming action of that drain cleaner she spent twenty bucks on from Duane Reade.

Her entire being was smooshed through a cylinder the size of a cardboard tube. She slooshed and slopped her way inch by inch gliding down into darkness, the snake line still dragging her through the labyrinth of plumbing. Oddly, she wasn't even concerned, except now she couldn't check her phone to see if he replied.

When her essence had dripped fully into a puddle upon the floor of the cavern, she awoke. No longer of the gooey, fluid consistency, she stood and looked around. Amber tones, a tan screen slid before her eyes, she rubbed them, and once again saw a whole new world of sepia. It was old-fashioned in style, vintage in substance.

Unreal reality blown out all about her. A bedroom set, metal wire-framed bedframe, frilly bedskirt, plush pillows of satin softness. A vanity, wardrobe, full-length mirror and folding changing screen. The carpets hugged her bare feet. The drapes reached out for her as they billowed in the wind. The ceiling fan lazily turned absently.

She jumped on the bed and rolled over onto her back. A goofy smile spread across her lips. She couldn't help but give her body a bit of a wiggle in joy and excitement. It was the room she had always wanted, a princess' quarters from decades past. An escape into the simpler days of yesteryear, when she could be a true lady.

The door eased itself open, gliding over the bristles of the carpet one strand at a time. He walked in, also barefoot, flowing cotton pajama pants dangling just above his ankles, his tight stomach lifting from his waistline, his arms tensing as they pushed open the door, then relaxing as they dropped to his side. Then he smiled.

And it was a smile that stole hearts, that plucked spirits from their bodies and breath from lips. Her body had been tensed up the entire time, she realized. Her lower back held tight just above her butt, her chest clutched, limbs outstretched nearly off the bed. She wanted to pounce upon him.

But before she could, he leapt on the bed and rolled around over her. He brushed aside the hair in her eyes, curling his fingers just behind her ear, running his hand down the back of her neck. Her eyes closed, his palm sliding down her back, grazing the tip of her butt. She felt his other hand coming closer, the electricity in the air, the vibrations rippling the air between them.

Then he rubbed her belly. And she loved his, tossing her body to and fro. Suddenly, this felt weird though. He went from sensual to tickling her rib cage and patting her bum. And she couldn't be happier. Her mouth opened and snapped shut a few times, and she growled and then her tail began to wag.

She woke up with her head in the sink, blood dripping from her nose and flowing down into the drain. Her phone buzzed as it got a text, but she didn't bother checking who it was.

Friends

I'm too quick to say I have no friends. I just have very few in NYC. But I just woke from a dream this morning where one of my best friends (and fellow TenTon founder) Scott St. Pierre and I fought drunken karaoke wrestling frat boys, and that's not even a little odd. His wife and little boy are back up in Massachusetts as they try to sell their house in NJ that I never had the chance to visit unfortunately.

Also in Massachusetts is my hetero-lifemate Boston Scott, the only individual I've ever given a nickname that stuck. We'll be working film projects come next month and I can't wait to see him in person again as it's been way too long. But we've called each other every few days, every other week, just to make sure we're both alive and kicking, the passion to create still burning in us both as we survived massive turmoil over the past year or more.

Back on the TenTon side of things, I've downloaded an app that makes it so I can post right to our forum so I can talk to those boys once again. I found out Phil and his wife out in Arizona had their baby boy Phinneas, saw Jason Masters in South Africa's new work for Wildstorm, my man-crush Chris Burnham in Chicago's new work on Officer Downe and Coheed & Cambria's comic series, touched base with Jason Baroody and Jong Kim in NJ who I need to see soon, and the rest of the gang there.

I need to get out to NJ to see a friend who I can't talk much about here in detail, but haven't seen in years, and was at one time him and his brothers were closer to me than my own family. It's a shame that it's a state so close yet without a car so difficult to get out to, and to make excuses, my life has just been such a mess for so long that I couldn't get it together enough to see anyone outside of NYC.

I also just got a script for a new Army comic script for IDW from my friend Jose Torres who reinvented himself as an Army Ranger, now married and with a child on the way down in Maryland. I miss seeing him and watching crazy movies and talking comics, but I know he's finally living a life of adventure like he always wanted.

Also down in Maryland is a friend of mine Michele Satory who I've reconnected with via Facebook who I haven't seen in 20 years. I had known her before I knew anyone that I still talk to these days, even casually, from Long Island. Seems we both went the route of bad relationship and starting over after our 20's.

Over on Long Island, my friend Gary Foster and Mike D'Amato are both living out there, still playing music, rocking out the suburban life I left behind. I've been a tad nostalgic for the old days where things were easier, going to diners, roleplaying in basements, driving aimlessly around the neighborhoods blasting metal from the cassette deck. The old crew is long overdue for a reunion.

Which brings me to the friends I do have here. Tim Mucci still lives in Park Slope, and now I live closer than ever in Sunset Park. We're about to re-launch the comic/writing podcast we started last year and it's just crazy thinking about how far we've taken that, and how engrossed in the world of comics we've become since then.

I'll probably swing by Bergen Street Comics tonight as they're having a block party, so perhaps I'll see some of the comic aquaintances I've met while hanging out with Reilly Brown. I can't say enough about Riles, except that he has proven himself to be the best friend I always wanted, there for me time and time again. Our comic is coming together splendidly, and I wouldn't be so confident and with it without his help and support.

Hopefully as the comic takes off I can finally put together the literary zine that Ben Hosley and I have been planning since we met at the New School years ago. He's got a job in the West Village now so I imagine we'll be hanging out more once we both get settled. We bond over the desire to write something real, struggling with our inner demons and dissatisfaction at the writing in the world today, hungry for something real.

Back to comics, the only person who was my real friend through my twenties while I rotted on Long Island was Chris Chua, who I developed a graphic novel with. Over years we put together an epic 200 page comic which we self-published as first a 48 page preview, then a digest 64 page preview edition, which we gave out to every working comics professional we could find. Things got strained, or weird, and I was a mess who needed to change his life drastically from the stability of suburbia to the madness of the big City. Things haven't been the same between us for years but I hope that I can fight through the awkwardness to make things right.

There's too many friendships that I've had end because people grow apart or there's something unsaid, too much time passed to know what to even say to one another. I don't want that to be the way it is, but it's hard to fight that weirdness. I hope by putting this out there in the world I can take one big step towards bridging that gap between being friends from before and being friends now. I miss you all.

The Fall: Our First Month Falling in Love

This was the Birthday Present that I gave to Laura Lee. It is my poetic reflection upon our first four dates. Originally I was going to perform this before her friends at her party but due to inebriated states, I saved them to read to her at her parents' house the following night.

Love you babe.

K

***

I had heard the stories,
words tumbling from your
lips, an uneasy self-truth
stumbling towards me on
baby deer legs,
personal revelations
that seemed as if I were
feeding you lines,
letting you detail out my
own life.

I listened as you let
yourself relax,
embraced the experiences
you had as my own,
for they were so familiar
to me.

I knew that you wouldn't
need fixing. I didn't
need to help you get past
it, get over it, understood
that you knew who you
were.

And it seemed so did I.

***

Slip right into words
Conversation sliding from our
Tongues, strangers still
But catching up
Nonetheless

I want to know what you were up to
Over there
On the other end of the galaxy

Talk, as easy as taking a walk,
Holding hands, stroll in the park
Caffeine buzz rippling underneath
I hold you for the first time
Never wanting to let go

***


It's a subtle lover's smile,
tender trappings of affection,
unspoken sedate passion
simmering just so, below the
surface, she pulls me closer,
I stroke her calf as we sit and
converse, out door gallery,
autumn falling like her tears
slipping free from dead branches,
the emotion takes us
hoping it never lets go,
I hold her chin in the curve
of my finger, slide her face
towards mine, and tell her
that I love her.

***

This tree
Limb sheared off
In the fury of storm
Still stands
Ancient and magnificent

Here you captured
Our moment
A snapshot
To freeze time for us
Cementing a memory
Crafting a sentimental
Relic that we can
Uncover in years to come
And return right here
Under this tree
Lip locked embrace
As it pours around us
Soaked and saturated

Broken branches may come
But I'll weather every storm
With you

Poetry - for Ms. Laura Lee Gulledge

I wrote the following poems while falling in love for the first time.
These are for you my love.

K

***

A pedestal is no place
For a lady like you
Unless perhaps you
Were to hold out a hand
Help me up
So we could look out
Upon the horizon
Point to our spots
Laugh merrily
And jump
Down.

***

Muse? I think
Not. For, isn't
The role of
Muse to inspire
The artistry locked
Within?

I feel no
Need to write
Nor speak nor
Trap any feeling
Into a cold
Word.

I feel it
Inside, a stillness
That becomes all
Inside, a balance,
Harmony, peace at
Long last.

You hold me
And there is
Nothing else
That matters
Not this poem
Which fails so
At giving you
Everything.

Not my words,
For though they
Saved me before,
Now I look
Forward, regret
Nothing that made
Me this man.

I know myself,
I see it reflected
In your demeanor,
And though I
May not know
You, through and
Through, I see
You.

***

Laughing at
Almost anything
Unless it's misfortune
Rather unfortunate
A circumstance

Let us instead
Elect to
Elaborate on the

Labors of
Organizing all the
Various
Electric
Sections of

Kurt's
Undying
Relentless

Tirade of passion.

***

So scary to live here
Where it's happy
Worry far from
My heart

It's our silent
Nodding agreement
Waving eyebrows
And shy eyes
They say it
All

Home, like
Family, life
With you,
Half of my
Self inside
Spied through
Smiles.