Kaptain's Blog

in the dream there is a boulder
of the shape and size
that might block the entrance
to a cave

for some reason
he ascribes the number 41
to the rock

to one side of the boulder is a void
to which, for equally obscure reasons
he ascribes the number “10”
10, the age of his elder son
41+10=51; his current age

he replays the events
of the past 10 years
in his mind

recalling his absences
from his son’s life
and the impact
these must have made
on the boy’s development

gradually, he drifts into uneasy sleep

frustration is a dagger with its point awaiting to pierce the throat of reason

how does a blind man see a naked woman?

In January 2009 I posted the following here, including a photo of the upper part of KL’s twin Petronas Towers:

http://kirkaustin.net/?p=278

(If the link doesn’t work you can simply search the Kaptain’s Blog for “Petronas Towers”.)

Shortly after, I was contacted by Y, a Korean art student, who wished to use the image for his or her art – a request to which I gladly acceded.

A long time has passed since then but I was very happy to receive an email from Y yesterday with the result, which I think is stunning:

there is a moment in life when you realise it was all a joke, when no one listens to a word you say, when you sense they mock what you know to be true. and i have arrived at that moment. but i will be going out with a smile on my face and with fond memories

don’t waste time watching manufactured “programmes” on “television”. i would chew my arm off to be able to speak to my Dad again. and i’m not shy or embarrassed to say that deep inside i am still his little boy.

there is no need to forget when you forgive: you will find it impossible anyway. but that very memory will remind you that you are a forgiving person

i know that men are not supposed to be able to multitask, but what would the inverse expression be? i’ve just spent 20 minutes with my 2 sons trying to get a quilt inside its cover and the bloody thing is still only half in. apart from the fact that my shorts dropped embarrassingly in the process i wish someone had videoed it.

he had to change his mind, deflect his ego. it was like that moment most of the way through a 20-minute John Bonham drum solo when even the severest of sceptics stood up and applauded

life is about thoughts, not “facts”
as a test of honesty, try explaining in detail every single thought you had today to someone you love

Things happened in microsecond chunks. A cockroach weighing a metric ton – the heaviest in recorded history – went unhurriedly about its business, entering his right ear to re-emerge from his mouth with equal disinterest. He felt its legs tickle his tongue. Startled, it then scratched a path back to some unseen crevice singing “Glory, glory Tottenham Hotspur” as it went, antennae twitching. Silently he screamed some words he didn’t recognise. Nat “King” Cole obligingly went about soothing him with the very thought of you. I see your face in every flower. Interrupting, the Secretary Of State said “God Bless America”. He rubbed a hand across his whiskers. His late mother waved at him ruefully. He narrowly avoided treading on a baby cricket. He needn’t have worried: an army of ants descended upon it, carving it up. Breakfast for the Queen. Weakling. Out of nowhere a wealthy Californian suddenly declared its presidential candidacy. His shoulders shook with laughter, involuntarily. The ground rushed up to greet him, ever faster, while the rest of humanity, in contrast, spiralled down. Once more he was forced to recorrect the spellchecker on his computer. Spiraled was only a word to five percent of the planet’s population. He was parched. Clack clack clack. Some tiny crustaceans crawled through his chest hairs, biting and nipping. Unrelated, he thought of Ian Curtis. Of “Isolation”. An arm flew out to the left. No one there. He rolled to the right and felt around for the bottle he knew, instinctively, sat waiting. Somewhere. Somewhere. SOMEFUCKINGWHERE.
Back again, stalking, the electrified fences of dawn.
Fuck off and die.
Fuck off and die.
Fuck off and die.
FUCK OFF AND DIE.
An axblade spliced his crown.