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Who is Kupka?
My creation in a time of desperation.
Made to do my bidding.
Suit my purposes.
Not so much a nom de plume as a
Way to hide.
Hide gender, or just confuse it.
Hide real life, behind a character.
Kupka heard somewhere that writing can heal mental ills.
There is a desire here, a need for creation.
Kupka is no author.
Behind the pseudonym is no puppet master.
No need for recognition,
Just a need to finally express what Kupka has to say.
There is no compensation sought
Merely a conduit for thoughts.
His hair blows as he crosses the field in a town he knows but has never lived in.
He thinks of her. A constant distraction in his mind. With no other preoccupations, she is there.
He thinks of the time he told her no. She pressed her luck and kissed his lips. No refusal. Segue to the time they held each other, making a deep connection in a cold room. She made him cry, but barely on the outside. Interrupted by a knock. Ãƒâ€šÃ¢â‚¬ËœPlease no farther.'
The walk isn't long enough. The coffee shop is a welcome distraction from her.
"Have you seen the entertainment section of today's paper?-
"Is it over there on the bed?-
"Nope. That is the six page full colour ad for sandwiches.-
"What? You're pulling my leg.-
"Look. One sandwich across two pages. Beauties ain't they?-
"Don't even think about going to get one! Wait! There's the entertainment section.-
"Gimme! What the hell? You're sure this is the entertainment section?-
"Said so on the front page. Why? What is the problem?-
"I can't find the comics. I don't see the discussions of popular cultural events, movies, the theatre. It is all fucking art shows reviews.-
He thinks of all the times he said yes to her.
He thinks of the few times he said no, but she didn't really listen.
He thinks of the barriers that stand in the way.
He's glad they are there.
He's glad for the fears that both of them have.
He's glad she didn't really listen.
He's glad for the space.
He regrets leaving her behind.
He regrets the last time they were together.
He regrets letting himself fall in love with her.
He regrets that she never wanted to be with him.
He thinks things could have been worse.
Things I'll do to get ahead in my job:
Give talks, lectures, stupid presentations.
Take extra courses during work or after work.
Go to conferences.
Organize team building events.
Travel long distances.
Have my ideas stolen by someone higher up the food chain.
Write long, boring manuals or other informative nonsense.
Pretend to make friends with my co-workers.
Work extra hours with little or no pay.
Give up my good mental and physical health.
Forego a personal life and personal commitments.
Pretend to give a shit about the bottom line.
But, I won't fuck my boss!
Well, maybe for a raise.
Aren't you angry? Mad? Sure. Deep down I'm hurt. Hurt usually leads to anger. It's one of those phases of mourning a loss. I'm just not going to yell about it. Nope. Not me.
Once I tried those tactics. Yelling.
FUCK YOU! FUCKING BASTARD! You never wanted to talk about it before it happened.
Sure. I'm angry. Things didn't work out for me. I got screwed. Screwed over. I screwed things up.
Yelling never changes things. You can't really make a good point spewing profanities at the top of your voice. But, you'd love it if I did, wouldn't you?
He knew she wanted to be saved. He knew about her demons the first time they'd met as friends. It was only later that she asked for his help.
"Please? I have these lost weekends. Call me a fucking alcoholic!"
How could he explain what had happened in the past? The words wouldn't come then. He wasn't ready to be that vulnerable with her.
"You have to understand that I tried to help others. I failed. Everything fell apart. One of them ended up in institutionalized rehab. I couldn't make a difference with them, how can I possibly help you?-
The hot sand felt like it was burning her feet. Everything smelled like sunscreen. The cool water took away the heat from the sun and the sand.
She has always loved to swim in this lake. She remembers swimming in it off the sailboat anchored off of Kingston. The lake was cool and deep. When they swam to the small island the zebra mussels on the rocks made deep cuts in her toes.
After swimming the hot sand under the towel is warming. She tries not to stare too much at her companion. She doesn't share this memory with him.
They sat and drank beer together. She never drinks beer. But today, after all the heat and water, it tasted good. Sitting at the table with the umbrella, drinking beer with him was comfortable and easy. Later when they were looking for a spot, some place to touch and kiss, possibly fuck, despite the frustration, she felt relaxed.
She will always remember her suggestion. "Come in to the change room. There is no one around." He hesitated. She went in to change. He found her fully naked behind the change room curtain. She hoped he would. But, he just looked.
Dinner is just an excuse to get blown.
She knew that the offer of friendship rang a bit hollow. There was a chance that it could work out that way.
"You know he doesn't love you.-
"I guess I thought he could get past the whole sex thing.-
So your wife doesn't blow you. She should! Maybe you should talk to her. Makes her wonder if she really satisfies him.
"That isn't your problem. Is it?-
"I guess not.-
Is it really true, to keep your man, you should become his little whore in bed? Nope. But it helps!
Kupka stopped going to the psychologist, because she always said not to. When the funds ran out that made for an easy excuse. Kupka is good at leaving, but has a hard time staying.
Kupka left home at 19 and never looked back, a pretty common occurrence. Kupka left the same person four times in three different ways, before finally getting it right the fifth time.
You knew exactly what to do both times that Kupka wanted to leave. You said, "I love you. I'm not going to let you go until you explain yourself,"because Kupka really wasn't leaving.
Today is a good day to stay away from high places.
When things get tough my friend thinks of jumping. On the other hand, I always start planning my escape route. First, get in the car. Have enough identification to get across the border, if necessary. Start driving away from here.
The car license plate could be traced. So, take enough cash out of the bank and get on a Greyhound bus.
Find a small town. I hate small towns. I'll head to a big city. Find a place to live. Find a job. Start over with a clean slate.
Wearing the Black
Is there something I don't know about? Did somebody die?
So, why are you wearing all black today?
blue jeans. I felt like wearing black today. Its an artist thing. I picked it up in art school, but it has to do with my mother.
What is wrong with your mother, is she sick?
No, nothing like that. When I was in my teens she wouldn't let me wear black clothes. She'd tell me nice girls don't wear black.
So, are you still a nice girl?
At this point I lied and said yes.
Kupka loves pictures. Drinking them in with the eyes. Looking at the details, the little things that get missed.
Dirty pictures, art images, ornamentation, decoration, poses, fashion pictures, old paintings.
Kupka also loves television, movies, popular culture. Television is an addiction that has taken over at points in the past.
Is it already time for bed? I haven't finished getting my fix of reality TV. What's on next?
Kupka loves to stare. People are fascinating creatures. Nothing is as satisfying as people watching.
Piercings, tattoos, hair styles, you can see her underwear through her skirt, naked folks, finger nails, shoes.
His favourite place for sex was in her bed. The way the thin little cat watched over them, first from the radiator, then from the fireplace mantle, to the simple white sheets with a beautiful old quilt.
There has been so many times that they had fooled around, but the thin mattress on the floor by the window made him feel like no place else. It comforted him despite his anxiety.
After their first time together she had called it "our bed."It had felt like that to him, only he had been unable to express exactly what it was.
I wanted to send you my sympathy and condolences on the loss of your spouse. We were friends for many years as you may or may not know. She loved you deeply.
There is something else, you see, she and I had more than a friendship. For a few years we were lovers. We corresponded for many years after. She was an amazing writer. This is all going to be published by Knopf as a book, next month.
I'm sorry if this comes as a shock. She wanted you to know all this only after she was dead.
The subway barreled in to the old dirty station, but didn't stop. I watched it rush by me. Felt the rush of wind blow my hair. The cars just kept moving as fast as they could go. I was supposed to be on this train. Why wasn't it stopping for me?
Looking out the end of the station, it wasn't horrific when the entire subway plunged over the cliff. Falling down, car after empty car, in to the water. Was it an ocean or a lake? It didn't matter. I was supposed to be on that train. Why wasn't I?
I sucked my thumb until I was twelve. Caused me to wear braces for a couple of years. With them front teeth way out there I was Bucky Beaver. The shrink said it was a way of self-soothing.
Later it was food. If my parents hadn't bribed me it would probably have been cigarettes. With no one around to comfort me, something in my mouth makes me feel less anxiety.
During the dissolution of the marriage, I sought out some way to satisfy the need to be comforted. Food wasn't an option.
You like my oral fixation.
I see you
A disembodied head
A peeping tom
Just looking on
See me shower naked?
Or is a webcam there?
Looking for me?
Like what you see?
Now I must be sure
Not to put on a show
When there is nothing on
I'm not here to amuse
To hide my shame
Diligently I will darken
Spaces I prefer light
If I stare
Will that deter?
I want freedom
Be gone away
Now look to see
Can I ever be as free
Unease at this
Until one of us moves
This is your life line.
The finger traced the left side of my left palm.
It is very faint. This means you are a very young soul. You are here to learn about life from others. You have the desire to have many different experiences. There is something else.
You life line is split, yet it overlaps. There is a great divide between the two sections. You will experience great changes in your middle years of life. There will be many hardships, but you will weather the storms. In the end of your life will be peace and calm.
Did you know I dreamed about you before I met you? I knew that I would encounter you long before we would ever connect.
For you, I dreamed you were pink. You were somehow special because of that pinkness. I knew I would find you.
For you, someone spoke it me in my waking dreams. A male voice. It resonated with me, "you will meet the one you will marry at school."
For you, the last on my list, I dreamed I had a choice. But, I knew from my dream the choice I would make when presented with it.
I always wanted to send a letter to Tom Robbins. As a fellow red head, who's birthday falls on July 22, I guess I felt some type of connection to his writings. So today, on his seventieth birthday and my thirty-second, I'm gonna write this one hundred words and pretend, for just a moment, that I am some kinda writer. That's my Leo side trumping my Cancerian tendancies. Really, I much prefer to have a paintbrush in my hand than a computer keyboard.
Mr. Robbins, can I call ya Tom? I like your books. I've read all of them. Yum!
What he couldn't say the other night, because he was drunk
He said, This relationship with you just hits points that I've never thought of before.
She had been talking to him about possibly taking another lover. Making him jealous despite his vow. He had never considered that this type of discussion would come up. Yet, later she had wanted him to say her eyes were some of the prettiest.
He had wanted to say Think of me as a brother. I can no longer be both friend and lover to you. Its hard to want what you cannot have.
A manifesto to keep me content
About a year ago I sent you a manifesto. I was thinking about what would make me happy. I never thought that they could actually happen. You responded, but couldn't follow through.
I was completely serious about those words. Those desires. For the most part, in life, I get what I want. This is because I don't want much and my desires are reasonable.
This year I am going to sit down and write another one, listing things that I want to keep me content. Sadly, you won't be on that list, this year.
Things about red heads:
The hair is rare.
We are not vampires or the spawn of the devil. Being the sole red head in the family might make you think I'm the milkman's progeny.
You can't fake being red. Whether you call it ginger, auburn or titian, or copper, the collar has to match the cuffs. There is something in the roots that can't be obtained with dye.
Red heads are totally fuckable and fuckably good. No, I'm not exaggerating or bragging.
One other thing, the level of temper might be linked to the shade of red. Further study needed.
There is a giant bug with wings and feelers climbing down the wall behind the computer. It is the size of a rat. Daringly I go pick it up. In my hands the bug becomes a white pigeon. There are two sets of wings, iridescent wings, and feathered wings.
I open the door and drop the pigeon outside. My white cat slips out after it. No baby, you don't hunt birds. The pigeon has become a beautiful cat. It's fur is long, a mottle of white, brown and blue with iridescent wings.
I somehow know that this is an angel.
I'm sitting on the subway heading downtown thinking about leaving again. What do I do? I'm unhappy or happy with things the way they are. I am quite depressed and anti-social. I feel invisible. I want to be invisible to everyone.
From the subway to a wall, I dive. I plunge in to the water. There is a submarine, a big black hulk below me. I'm caught in the wake and tossed about. Back on the surface I see ships. The water is oily around me. I search for something or someone, but I don't know what, I don't remember.
One day I showed up at your door. Leave it all behind. I said. Get in the car. We'll drive to somewhere else.
First you looked shocked then scared.
I don't know where I am going. I just need you to be beside me. I want to start a new life in another town with you. Come with me?
No! I can't! I can't be with you. You know that.
I slowly backed away. Fine! I'll go without you. I always knew you were a coward.
I love you. You said.
I turned around so you couldn't see me crying.
Lying in bed late last night, not sleeping, I was starring out the window at the night clouds. In mere moments the clouds twisted in to a tornado.
It was so close I yelled to you to get under the bed, my voice usurped by the screaming winds. Frozen in terror all I could do was put my pillow over my face and scream.
Sudden calm. I surveyed the room. Everything untouched. On one wall was taped a yellow paper. It read:
Support CTV's Horn Action!
CTV supports tornado warning horns in your area.
(Ah, direct marketing at its finest!)
Out on the links today. God, they keep the grass so green. Must be the herbicides, pesticides, perhaps the constant mowing?
Got the hand 3 wood in my hands. Long drive for a par 4. The 3 wood? Yeah. That's always been a good one for this hole. Bend down to put in the tee and place my ball.
Notice something different about the ball. No indentations and a funny ovoid shape. Where did it come from? Ah, well. Swish! Crack! Wow! Can that sucker go! Such distance. Must be a more aerodynamic design. I'll eagle this hole for sure.
There is often a smug sense of satisfaction, which comes with completing something. I feel that right now with this little writing project that I took on. Continuing on in to the next month was not necessarily an option considered. With such good feelings I have decided to persevere.
There are times when completion of something does not feel as satisfying. I've struggled with that also this month. Think of the phoenix. A death in flames, yet reborn anew. I can only hope that this will be the case. May the newly born come from it's predecessor. I deeply hope.
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