The Poetics of May

Posted in Fiction, Poem with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 1, 2017 by Rathan Krueger


At the start of last month, I started a new creative exercise. The day before, I write three words, all stream-of-consciousness. The next day, I force myself to write a poem about them, then leave three new words for the morrow. It’s been an interesting and challenging thing that I’m continuing this month. Keeps me creatively fit as well as prepares me for the day a decade or so from now when I add being a musician to my renaissance list. I was also inspired slightly by Emily Dickinson and her absurd pile of poetry. Here are some of my favorites.

May 6th, 2017 (mistreatment, locomotive, stars)

The engine grinds them
Sinews and gristle snag and snap twixt the gears
Atomized blood a steady cloud
The squeal comes from voices, not brakes
The flames of combustion
Fanned by adoring hearts
All for a magazine cover

May 8th, 2017 (tape, repetition, clouds)

Rhapsody on strips
Unbelievably high on currents
Noticed only by aviary beasts
Rooted in their confusion
Utmost and plentiful
Nature despises the laboratory
Rushing past abominations
Undulating through condensations
Nary one makes it alive

May 11th, 2017 (breasts, graphite, Spain)

Nights of nuclear paint under ultraviolet light
Swimming with sweat, sex, and sounds of the vox populi
Ibiza reigns and rains with no trace of soudade
Her endowments glow bare and bright, and I am grateful
I woke to her number near a pencil, not the stairs

May 20th, 2017 (blood, clay, apathy)

As you mold coldly twixt my fingertips
I notice you are the only feeling
That exists about me
The sanguine flow within
Stiff as you in contradiction
If only it went beyond hyperbole
I finish and we look the clown

May 22nd, 2017 (upside-down, clitoris, jagged line)

A thousand threads
Pierce through the dark
Suspending barriers
Decorated with chevrons
A giggle of wind
Makes millions of threads soar inverted
Lighting the way for a break in time
To your tangled plain
And tender hill

May 24th, 2017 (fire, disappointment, sane)

You may take purchase
Of finer banalities
But make no mistake
You play in a holocaust of vanity
Each singeing lick
A memento of mischance and apathy
As you make your bedlam
As you fade away

May 25th, 2017 (silence, wires, grain)

The world is chaos and phlem
Tangled in pulsing currents of now
Sent to the mill to be pulverized into acceptance
‘Til the quietness of your still heart reigns

May 28th, 2017 (addiction, chainsaw, well)

Screeching down mildewed walls of stone
Brick by brick, descending into cylindrical darkness
But for the sparking interruptions
Deeper and deeper I sink
Regretfully… greedily
‘Til the water blankets me
However, serenity loves a taunt
Thus I’m denied my final splash
Still I fall, still I reach, still I fall

May 31st, 2017 (Pocky, slide, thunderstorm)

The tumultuous sky spits upon us
And lashes out with forked tongues
Onto those conductors electric
Some unfortunate ones are planted in playgrounds
Ladders attached for clamoring hands
Leading to plummeting surfaces
And woodchips crackling undertow
A sated child watches
As they nibble on Japanese delights


The Pre-Pre-Production Come Along of February and March

Posted in Uncategorized on March 29, 2017 by Rathan Krueger


This and last month have been mostly about gathering info and such I’ll need to pull the trigger on getting investors and their attention. It occurred to me that it would be better for me to have a professional bank account for investors as opposed to just a personal one, and that I should have it before asking them for money. “Look at this established bit of fiscal responsibility waiting for your patronage!” vs “Yeah, it’s going to my bank account… but you can trust me. Really.” Because of that, I didn’t get to tackle much of anything on my checklist.

But I do own a film production company now. I meant to do it a lot sooner (like, when I started this blog), but life kept getting in the way and I wasn’t ready. Professionally or privately. Thanks to creative opportunities that’ve happened since, including everything that Leonardo Fallucca of Artigianale Films has done, I can finally go about building my empire (or at least a fiefdom) wholeheartedly.

How does one go about creating a production company? First, you have to figure out the kind of business it is. There are many, and the lucky one is an LLC, a Limited Liability Company. Look it up, kids. Once you figure that out, you go to a bank that isn’t Bank of America (lest we forget the banking crisis) and find out what you’ll need to open an account for your LLC. The manager will be kind and give you a list. For me, it said that I had to get $100 to open an account, an operating agreement, an EIN number, and one of three things. The one-of-three ended up being one not listed because I didn’t have an LLC yet, an LLC Article of Organization (something for the state). The agreement is basically a declaration of what your business is, and the EIN number is something for the IRS. Both are free and left me feeling good about getting things done. Until the Article. I thought I only had to spend $50 in addition to the $100 because that’s how much one of the three things costed (I chose the Certificate of Assumed Name). But, like I said, the three only applied to opening an account after getting an Article of Organization. I thought that if the Certificate only cost $50, surely the Article couldn’t cost much more.

The universe loves a good joke.

Six hundred dollars. Actually, it was five hundred but the extra Benjamin was a fee I couldn’t get rid of to get my application processed in 24 hours. But wait, there’s more. After looking a few pages ahead, I saw that I also needed a designated agent (a go-to lawyer, basically) who cost $107. And THEN I found out that I had to pay a 2.5% tax on the $600. Y’know, to suck the threading outta the poor bastard that’s my dying wallet. After crying in my beer for a few minutes, I saw the whole process as me asking myself “Are you sure?” Most people would’ve quit after finding out that they needed the fucking $50. To go beyond that and pay whatever the price is meant that you were committing in a big way and that you should be able to laugh off whatever hurdles pop up. Almost a thousand dollars later, I answered: “Fuck yeah.” What’s a few hundred bucks in the face of a lifetime of artistic fulfillment, anyway?

Earlier this week, I became the sole owner of Darkness Opera LLC. Even made a new logo, as you can see in the header.


I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tortured myself over the years with this design. It was originally much more ornate. The D looked like a decal on the most Gothic wrought-iron fence that ever existed, and the O was a full moon peeking from behind a few clouds (moon imagery was the only thing to survive it all). No katakana (the Japanese symbols under the line). Then I came up with a bunch of designs that resembled late-90s Goth rock album art, one of which was the header here for the longest time. A few days ago, the design up top suddenly came to me and, with the help of a freeware picture editor (, I made it. The English font is something that John Carpenter uses a lot in his credits (Albertus). The katakana is a phonetic spelling of the name. In Japanese, a sounds like “ah”, e sounds like “eh”, and o sounds like “owe”. Because of that, I wrote it “da-ku-ne-su-a-pe-ra” instead of “da-ku-ne-su-o-pe-ra”. Subtitle fans might be able to sympathize, but one of the things that takes me out of anime or a Japanese film is when they say an English word how it’s spelled instead of how it’s said (like “opera”). Anywho. The katakana dashes have meaning. They tell you to stress the symbol preceding it. We’d say “DARKness OperA”, and I wanted to reflect that. So it’s “DA-ku-ne-su-A-pe-RA”. Why Japanese? Three reasons. One: Japan’s been a big part of my creative life. Two: I love bilingual anime titles. Three: it makes the logo more worldly. I had to add the quotation mark over “da” and the o over “pe” because the katakana font I used didn’t have them.

I was gonna put a full moon in the center, but that would’ve pushed the Japan of it all into laughable territory. But I wanted to keep the moon in there somehow. Then I made it a crescent, which works on a few levels. It looks like a sinister smile. Like horns. Like a necklace. And the moon is a symbol for femininity, which is fitting since I plan on working predominantly with female characters. The logo as a whole is meant to catch your eye as quickly as possible. There are a fuckton of people begging for your attention, and I feel that my logo does it in an elegant way. The color combination’s great, the katakana helps out a lot, but I think the biggest grab is the crescent. Not many people– I don’t think anyone uses it as part of their logo, so it being a rarity is awesome and precious. And as an enthusiast of t-shirts with graphics, it’ll look great plastered across chests.

Why “Darkness Opera”? I wanted to tell dark stories on a grand scale, and operas can be serious or funny which allows me to paint with as many brushes as I want.

Service Industry Confidential

This is something I created for the Service Industry Podcast shortly after I made my logo. They didn’t ask for it, and I would’ve been more than ok if they told me to fuck off. I was still feeling a creative buzz and walked it off with the design. I originally wanted to do something on a lacquered mahogany board since lots of bars are made with that. However, being free means that it isn’t as capable as Photoshop. I didn’t wanna attempt to go down a creative road I knew would lead to a craggy dead end. I knew that I would’ve tried a few experiments with the mahogany, and I didn’t wanna get bum-rushed by disappointment. The idea of beer bottlecaps came to me, then the idea of tilt-shifting. I turned the saturation way down so the text could stand out without clashing. The biggest pain, because of’s restrictions, was the font. I didn’t have many options, but it looked too bland to leave it alone. So I did a gradient paint job and added some grain to make it look fizzy. “Confidential” looks like a Van Halen album cover, and that’s alright with me. It still looked a little dead, but the closed sign changed that.

Well, enough rambling. Back to being a director.

The Pre-Pre-Production Come-Along of January

Posted in Blog, Making-Of, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 8, 2017 by Rathan Krueger


Last month was a bit of a preparedness overkill, knowing that making WAKE UP ALONE is gonna be as much of a one-man show as possible. After taking care of The Most Important Part of Filmmaking, copyrighting the script, I made a list of things to do each month leading to the first day of filming (Mayday). January was dedicated to:

  • Looking into the average cost of locations, crew, and equipment
  • Checking The Knife’s “Marble House” for availability
  • Forming a producer list and sending inquiry letters
  • Building a budget
  • Storyboarding
  • Making a style guide [got bumped from February]

Everything got handled except for two things. I didn’t check the Knife song because I wanted it to run through the ending credits… but there wouldn’t be enough people in the credits to use the whole song. The whole song was important because of the idea I had for the credits needed all five minutes and eighteen seconds of it. WAKE UP ALONE isn’t gonna be the only film I make and I highly doubt that I’m gonna forget that ending, so it’s not a big deal. Plan B was for me to make a song, and I have an idea of what to create. The other thing that didn’t get handled was storyboarding, partially because I wanna lock a location before settling into visuals and partially because storyboard notebooks for the 2.35:1 format are expensive for me right now. “Buy a 1.85:1 notebook and draw matte boxes, dummy.” I said expensive for me right now. Once the money starts coming in and I lock a location, I’ll bite the bullet and buy what I need.

Something I’ve learned this year is that the world wants you to succeed, yet is indifferent to whether you do or not. It offers you SO many avenues to do whatever you need, but it’s up to you to take advantage or not. I raided producers’ info for query letters all month with IMDbPro’s free trial, for instance. I’ve found so many great sites that talk about average costs and making budget sheets, and Maureen A. Ryan’s PRODUCER TO PRODUCER has quickly proved invaluable. Spending years absorbing filmmaking info from DVDs, Blu-rays, YouTube, Vimeo, and books, the one person I’ve heard the least from is the producer. Ms. Ryan’s book tears down that wall for the indie producer. Or the indie writer-director-editor-producer. However, there’s an aspect of producing that I dislike. Ms. Ryan’s book goes into detail about how to write a proposal for investors, and I loathed the part where I had to break down WAKE UP ALONE into an economic statement. Not planning the budget (I liked that a lot), describing my film as a product and doing a fucking fantastic job of it. Art is resistance, but it is also commerce.

Making the style guide is one of the most fun parts of this. A style guide is making a folder of pictures that represent clothes, hairstyles, make-up, locations, and cinematography choices for the film. I do NOT want a shitty-looking film just because it has a micro-budget. I’m as far from the mumblecore movement as one can get. Closer to bargain-basement Rococo. Some might feel that it restricts the creative process, but I’d rather everyone know what I want than wasting time trying to figure things out. I’m open to further discovering styles and such, but I also have a very stable foundation for them.

This month has a lot going for it, so I better get to it. There’s a BIG gamble that I’ve been dragging my feet about taking because of the attention, good and bad, it’ll bring. Fortune favors the bold and all that jazz…

Like the Boomerang That Won’t Quit

Posted in Blog with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 2, 2017 by Rathan Krueger


I’m making a film! This year! May! What does the pic up top of the dearly departed have to do with it? Lots, but not at all in the way you’re thinking.

Early-Summer of last year, I decided that I finally had enough experience behind and around the camera to make my first film (look at that IMDb page). There have been a few false starts over the years, and even a start that came up shorter than I wanted it to because I wasn’t quite ready to wield the camera long-term. I don’t have a problem with waiting ’til I’m ready for something. I could’ve made films ten years ago because I had a strong visual sense and knew I could show a good story. But I couldn’t tell a good story yet. The only reason I wanted to be a director is because I could write scripts for me, and my writing didn’t match quality the pictures I could make. So I chose to focus on making it easier for me to make characters more defined as well as make better dialogue. Somewhere around there, I realized that although I enjoy a good plot-driven tale and could easily write more than a few, my home was with character pieces. It’s much more interesting for me to see people deal with each other instead of giving them something to do. Then I found women more enjoyable to write than men and never looked back.

I knew that I wanted my first film to be a generational snapshot (like Easy Rider or Clerks). There hadn’t been one for my ilk yet, and I knew that it’s bound to happen sooner than later. I’d rather be part of the “sooner” crowd, so it was a matter of finding out what about my generation I wanted to say. As I think about what I wrote, I feel that I’ve said enough but I’ve left out a lot. Maybe next time. Isolation was the thing that caught my attention the most, so I followed that train of thought. The ending is one of the first things I think up no matter what story I tell. It’s something I realized recently, wished I knew a lot sooner, and was grateful for knowing at all. Lucky, lucky me, what ended up being Wake Up Alone had an ending that came to me briskly. I wanted it to start with drama and end with horror, and the ending didn’t disappoint. Why is the end so important to me? It gives me something to work towards and earn. You’re not gonna be able to figure out how it ends, but you’ll also see that it couldn’t have ended any other way.

And now, we get to Ms. Winehouse. In the early planning stage, I quickly latched onto naming the main character after her and titling the film after a song that felt right. So Amy became the star of Wake Up Alone. I changed her name to May because of a subtle(?) joke involving her name and the names of two other characters. But the Winehouse goes deeper because the film, in a way, is a nod to the “Rehab” lyric, “I just, oh, I just need a friend”. There are a few other big and little nods to her, but I’ll let the film show you them.

After lots of thinking and planning and writing, I finally finished Wake Up Alone… and it clocked in at 63 pages, I think. My intent was to get some producers interested, and no one’s gonna read a script that’s around 60 pages. That’s basically a short film, in their eyes, and they don’t make money. I decided to put it away for a little while so I could look at it with fresher eyes and see how I could add more pages. I was worried about doing that because it’s such a tight script. Every line lead to the next, so to add anything new could’ve fucked everything up. While I was distracting myself, I reread Mick Rock’s excellent Metallica biography, Enter Night, and read a Tweet that changed the rest of my year.

While reading the book, the idea of a blind woman starting a Heavy Metal band came to me. As I kept reading, the idea started to congeal. I was gonna resign it to my idea notebook and come back to it later, then I saw her bump into a wall and say “Wall.” just before she did it and knew I had to write her story double-quick. How could I ignore a blind woman Metal guitarist who’s comfortable enough with her handicap to knowingly bump into a wall? I’m not at all someone who’s constantly writing scripts. If I’m writing it, I intend on directing it soon. Or at least doing something with it. Then I read a Tweet from BBC’s Writers Room, a site the channel has that fosters writers (more things should do this). It said that it would be accepting unsolicited, one-hour, dramatic scripts in December. I was glad and worried at the same time. I’d been waiting for that, but didn’t have any ideas. Then I remembered my blind guitarist. Writing her was more instinctual, and I quickly found out that I wasn’t interested in writing a dramatic story about her. It was more interesting to write something lighthearted because anyone could do the “woe is me” tale about a blind woman trying to do something. Not many would not let her handicap get in the way. Fewer would make her a leader. But the BBC thing would want a dramatic script. Then I realized I could give them Wake Up Alone since it was around 60 pages and make Turn the Strange my first film.

If I could go on a tangent, I’d like to talk about how Doctor Who, Wonder Woman, and Supergirl allowed Wake Up Alone and Turn the Strange exist the way that they do. I’m a huge fan of the Sturm und Drang. The bleaker the story, the better. However, those three characters injected something in my storytelling palette that I wouldn’t have put on my own: the dreaded c-word, “compassion”. I didn’t know it was there, but I also didn’t try to get rid of it when I looked back. Wake Up Alone is about three women, and two of them fit quite well in my house of malaise. The third, though, is definitely a by-product of the Gallifreyan, the Amazonian, and the Kryptonian. She might’ve popped up a few years ago, but she would’ve been someone the film made fun of. Instead, she’s an integral part of the tale and as fucked-up and bleak as the ending is, it’s also full of compassion. And I wouldn’t have bothered with Turn the Strange’s blind Emily if I wasn’t such a geek. My storytelling hasn’t changed completely because compassion was added. What’s happened is now I have an opportunity to create richer stories. I also get to see me war against compassion with nihilism. Should be fun.

So. Back to Turn the Strange. I wrote it and had a great time and accepted that Wake Up Alone was gonna be made by someone else. Then I started location-scouting (finding places to make a film) and making a style guide (a portfolio that shows ideas of clothes and things as well as cinematography). Metallica’s new album came out the day I was location-scouting, so that was a particularly fun and karmic time. Then December hit and the BBC started taking scripts. Two funny things happened. I realized that sending Wake Up Alone to them would’ve been like spending time getting to know a woman who was really into me, telling her that she should date a stranger when she’s ready to go on a date, and think “They sure look great together. Wait a minute…” The other thing that happened was, unlike other script things they had, the BBC was only accepting scripts from the UK. Thus, my decision was made on two fronts: Wake Up Alone is mine. But I also had Turn the Strange. After moping for a few minutes, I told myself that I now have a second film script already ready and felt groovy. Well, there was another script idea, but that’s for another blog.

I now had my original problem with May and friends: how the fuck was I gonna pump the page count up without making the script bloated? I hate deleted scenes. If there was more attention paid to the script, those scenes would’ve been taken out and not wasted lots of time and money. So if I was gonna add more scenes, I had to be sure that they HAD to be there. One of the characters is damn verbose, so I wanted to try avoiding her scenes because they’re exhausting to write. Her scenes were the ones that would’ve suffered the most from adding, anyway. Because I walked away from the BBC thing, I got to make things more adult, which was nice. Those lines of thought made me develop scenes that I wanted to kick myself for not think of initially, but I’m glad I found them at all. Then 63 pages became 75, and things were groovy.

Starting today, I get the gears going for Wake Up Alone on the intense road to get behind the camera on May 1st. I’ve got a schedule set up, so it’s just a matter of tenacity and ingenuity. I’ll update when I can, so I’ll see you when I have more to say.


Posted in Blog, Fiction with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 24, 2016 by Rathan Krueger

I’ve been pretty busy lately, and I wanted to show you a few pages of a script I finished recently. It’s about Emily, a woman guitarist who’s trying to start a Heavy Metal band with a handicap she won’t allow to get in her way. I had a lot of fun writing it, she’s a lot of fun, and I hope you have a lot of fun reading her.

An old alarm clock goes off, glass absent from its face,
ringing its bells like a caffeinated woodpecker. The woman
it’s trying its best to win the attention of currently has
her head buried under a pillow. A feeble attempt to stop the
day. She eventually gives up and tosses the pillow at the
clamor. Or rather, tries to. She overestimates how far the
clock is by a few feet. She then lets out a defeated sigh
and sits up.
EMILY VERDA’S hair sticks up at all sorts of angles,
compliments of sleep. She sits on the edge of her bed, hands
on thighs, wearing a simple spaghetti-string top and pajama
pants. After slapping her legs rhythmically, she almost
immediately switches from being exhausted to being wide
awake, then turns off the alarm.

You’re gonna get them today.


EMILY brushes her teeth while humming the same four notes
over and over. Faster, slower, higher, lower. The fingers on
her free hand, black nail polish chipped, rap upon the
mirror at the same tempo changes. Her eyes in the mirror are
unfocused, yet there’s still thought behind them.
She locks onto a particular tempo, repeating it twice, then
smirks before she spits into the sink.


A proper view of the BEDROOM shows amazing organization
skills. Apart from the pillow slumped in the corner and the
messy bed, everything is exceptionally neat and tidy. Three
other stand-out features are the lack of closet doors, of an
entrance door, and of any mirror. Just outside the doorway
is an astroturf rug.

At the closet and in a terrycloth robe, EMILY chooses
something to wear for the day. Her hair is now combed flat,
and her lips are painted black. She quickly flicks through
hung shirts, pants, t-shirts, skirts, and dresses, giving
some a stroke or two before passing them up.

She goes to a window and opens it. She then licks a palm and
sticks into the world…

Pants and a button-up.

…then gets what she needs while wiping her hand on her


EMILY sits on the counter, twixt the sink and toaster, as
she tosses the last bit of one waffle in her mouth. A laptop
sits on the table. She then snatches another waffle from the
toaster. She tears off pieces and eats them, avoiding her
lipstick. While this is going on, she hums the melody she
came up with in the BATHROOM while tapping her bootheels on
the cabinet.

Until she almost chokes on a waffle bit.

She tosses what’s left of the breakfast pastry in the
garbage, in a fit of betrayal, then briskly washes her hands
in the sink. Her boots make the plastic mat on the floor
click and pop.


Sliding on her armor, a well-loved frock coat, EMILY
prepares to leave her apartment. Next, she tucks a pocket
recorder and a flipphone inside the coat. By the door is a
beaten-up guitar case ready to be slung over her shoulder
like a sword. On a short bookcase is her helmet by way of a
top hat and sunglasses. Both are vertically-striped black
and white, with the hat having a bit more business. The
black stripes are felt, the white are like silk, and a ring
dangles from the brim. A finger can easily fit through it,
which she does as she positions the hat so that the ring
hangs over her left ear.

Ready to face the day, she grabs one last thing: her folding


EMILY walks with a little pep in her step as her cane goes
TAK-TAK-TAK-TAK, making sure that she doesn’t bump into
anyone (while not really caring if she does).

She points a twirling finger in the camera’s general
direction as she taks and trots along.

‘Ello, dear viewer. Emily’s my name
and I was put on this planet for
two reasons: shredding guitars and
bumping into furniture. If the cane
didn’t give the game away, I’m a
bit blind. Don’t feel sorry for me,
though. You’re the ones who have to
see the state the world’s in.

She takes her finger away and continues walking to…


The bell over the door DINGS as EMILY enters. After folding
her cane, she approaches the register while getting her credit card.
At the counter, a clerk waits with a mug full
of the hot stuff.

Ms. Verda! We ran out of white
chocolate last night, but we have a

EMILY stops in her tracks, flicks straight her cane, and
doffs her hat.

I bid thee good day.

Just kidding, just kidding!

Don’t toy with my heart today.

EMILY folds her cane and continues her morning routine
towards her white chocolate mocha topped with whipped cream
and coconut sprinkles.

I’m a wage slave, I have to get as
much harmless fun as I can to pass
the 9-5.

And normally, I’d understand. Nay,
I’d encourage. But I need all my
strength for later.

EMILY swipes her card and enters her PIN as the CLERK
extends the mug.

Oh? Why? Oh yeah, you’re still
doing those auditions. How long
have you been holding them?

Doesn’t matter.

EMILY takes the mug and her receipt.

I’m gonna get them today.

How many are you meeting?

Two, but two’s all I need. Thanks
for letting me post my ad here.
That’s how they found me.

Ah, no problem.

Kayley and Leslie. Gonna have a
chick band.

You just be sure to play your
second gig here.


Who’s ever great their first time

Har har har. I was gonna leave a
tip, but now…

You can’t tip plastic. Besides, you
already swiped your card.

Maybe I was gonna get a few

Were you?

EMILY starts to step away as she sips her coffee, then turns
back to the CLERK.

Do you know Kayley and Leslie? All
I have are texts that my phone
reads aloud.

I only know you because you’re a
creature of habit and this place is
lucky enough to be within sniffing
distance of your apartment.

Heh, too true, too true.

EMILY continues to an empty booth, but not before…

Good luck today, Emily. Really.

She gestures a salute with her mug, then sits. She then
takes a big gulp, points a circling finger towards the
camera, and sets her mug down with a big whipped cream
moustache on her face.

I know what you’re thinking, but
chick bands rock. No, you’re
thinking that other thing and, yes,
I know it’s there. No, no, you’re
thinking that OTHER other thing,
and we’ll never know if Neo
would’ve knocked over that vase.
It’s best to just let it go, I’ve
lost far too much hair over that.
Roy Orbison and José Feliciano.
Drawing blanks? I’m drawing
circles. They’re two of the best
guitarists to have ever lived. They
also found that blindness didn’t
take away frets and chords. Herman
Li is a beast with a guitar THAT HE
like Hendrix! So my heritage has
that covered because we all come
from the same womb. Joan Jett,
Bonnie Raitt, Joni Mitchell, Nancy

She brushes the dairy facial hair off with her finger, then
eats it with a grin.


The Royal Nothing

Posted in Fiction, Poem with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 26, 2016 by Rathan Krueger

The court is dead
It lies to itself as well as us
Says that it is merely dying
Few things are as pathetic
As unaccepting corpses
The court is dead
And we accept its lies

Yearning is childish fancy
A wish is a desolate prayer to illusion
Hopes are for the broken
While you sleep, dreams are the poison-drip into your ear

Orgies swirl in the town square of abberation
For there is comfort in letting go
Of all responsibility to the future
And laying blame on The Other

“Their fault, never mine. Never mind”

As an outlier, I only hear the moans
Catch the scent on the wind
I have wanted neither to glimpse or participate
Yet that does not mean
The bacchanalia has no sway

I have my distractions
Staying me from my rusted crown
Though I approach it head held high
My eyes are my great betrayer
Yet I need them, lest I walk in bigger circles

Trinkets my almost-kingdom could afford by the moundful
I desperately clamor for enough to barely fit in my palm
A junkie to its fix
Out of space, out of taste
Ardor that will flow like the treacherous hurricane
I look for in swamps
The drought-stricken lovefool
In an unworthy place for either them or their intended

They aren’t enough to destroy me
But they do make the crowned road longer
And corrosion loves time
Still, one could wipe the grime away
If they quicken their pace
Or, let the deceitful, rotting court
Take it all, kingdom and square

Varnish or vanish
Such is life


Pity and the Bottle

Posted in Dialogue, Fiction with tags , , , , , , , , , , , on September 1, 2016 by Rathan Krueger

Why don’t you put the bottle down?

No point, didn’t you know? I’m worthless.

No one’s worthless, Francesca.

Tell that to the dead.

But you’re not.

Sure as fuck seems like it.

You’re talking to me right now, and drinking more than you should. The dead don’t do much else besides bloat and rot.

Once a month, I get bloated and feel rotten. Same diff.

That has nothing to do with being dead and you know it. What’s with this pity parade?

A gal can’t feel fucking sorry for herself sometimes?

Not when it leads to being self-destructive.

I don’t see any broken windows.

I see empty bottles.

Ah, shut–

They weren’t here last week when I was here. Which means they were bought recently. You’re the only one who lives here. Which means that your liver and bladder are at least 70-proof.

Maybe I wanted to pretend I’m in college again.

You hated college.

Then my behavior isn’t so outstanding, is it?

Yes, Francesca, yes, it fucking is. You’re better than this. You’re so much better than this. We used to make fun of people who did what you’re doing.

And what, my captain, am I doing that’s bait for our mocking eyes?

You’re trying to burn whatever problem you’re going through with fire water, but it’s never the answer. Not in college. Not now. Not when you’re dead. Talk to me.

I am talking to you. See? “Hi, Polly! Sunny day, eh? Want a cracker?”

Is it because of something I did?

“I bet you think this song is about you…”

You’re trying to make me angry and you’re scaring me.

You want scary, you should look at what I left in the bathroom. It gets really hard to find the toilet sometimes.

What? What the fuck is it?

I’ve got you swearing.

Yes, Francesca, damnit. You’ve got me fucking swearing. Are you fucking happy now?

If I was happy, would I be surrounded by all these dead soldiers?

I know what you’re trying to do.

Oh? Share your feelings with the group.

You’re trying to push me away. You’re trying to make yourself the victim so that you can feel better about this bullshit you’re putting your body through.

Actually, this is high-end tequila.

I don’t care, give it to me.

No. And if you try to take it from me, I will beat you to death with it, bitch, I don’t care how long we’ve been friends.

You’d break the bottle.

And I would sip whatever I could off your corpse. You’ve had body shots done off of you, you know what that’s like.

Did something happen with your family?

No, nothing happened with my family. Nothing ever happens with my family. Nothing never-ever happens with my fucking family. Fuck, I thought you were my friend.

Stop being condescending.

I’ll be what I want, I’m grown.

Yes, you are, so stop acting like a brat.

Ooo, “brat”! I thought I had you swearing. You should’ve said something more along the lines of “bitch”. Or are you going back to schoolyard swears, doody-head?

I don’t get you right now.

You’re not supposed to.

Did someone turn you down?

“Want a cracker?”

That’s it? You’re destroying your life because of a piece of ass?

Would that make me the stereotype? Would my pain be less valid if I was a trope?

Nothing about you is less valid, Francesca, it’s just that…

Just what? A woman can’t have her heart broken and be a mess? I’m sorry if I’m not evolved enough to match your critique on modern femininity.

Was it a man?

Why would it matter? Heartache is heartache. I didn’t know agony depended on gender. It was a hermaphrodite. There. Now the feminists won’t know what to make of me.

I don’t… I don’t get…

What? Just because you have thoughts different from mine about relationships doesn’t make my problems enigmatic. I never felt that your issues were weird. Your jumping from person to person because you got what you needed from them… that sort of thing made you you and those you dated knew what they were getting into.

But you’re killing yourself over someone.

I’m mourning what could’ve been. If that’s too romantic for you, there’s the door. I didn’t ask you to be a part of this. Fuck, I didn’t even ask you to be here. Why did you come here in the first fucking place?

I wanted to… I wanted to know if… if…

Speak, bitch.

I wanted to know if you’d be my fucking wingman, ok? But I know how fucking ridiculously absurd that is now, with the state of you.

Yeah, I think it’d be a bad idea to bring the relapsed alcoholic into a situation that made her slip up in the first place.

…you were an alcoholic?

Wanna see my chips? Or what’s left of them. I cut ’em all up last night.

I didn’t know.

That’s the thing about drunks: they’re very clever about hiding their problems. At least, until they throw up on a cop after they bust you for a DUI.

But you can’t let yourself go, I don’t care who hurt you.

That’s the thing about romantics: they can.