Art Exhibition: 8 - The Computerized Faces

Picture.

Picture.

Picture.

I made it out of pixels.

And when it's...

Nevermind.

This is Rita.

I made pictures on Rita.

This is a face.

This is also a face.

- J. A. Kind

Gerard The Frenchie

Gerard has an Instagram account.

The account is @gerardthefrenchie

- J. A. Kind

Ready or Not, Here I [explicit]

     The morning Adeline asked to play hide and seek, her father cracked a smile. 

When the foremost of sun’s beams etched out a path in the sky, subsequently penetrating the off-white cloth curtains of the room of the child, Adeline awoke.  Her face painted a contorted grin of a labored collection of sun kissed memories, not yet manifested, as the worn droplets of light sprinkled over the curved cheeks and forehead, dribbling like the spit of a predator with hind legs in states of tension and leading nails in a battle for territory.  As one foot descended from bed to ground, Adeline, still moist from the sweat of sleep, gabbled silently with thrill.  For today she would skin the hind of childhood, as both predator and prey ascended from juvenile mockery, and the games commenced. 

So, young Adeline, still in her nightgown, began her quest across the lonely home.  She skipped out of her room, fluttering like the dust that exposed itself to light, and knocked on her parent’s chipped door.  Adeline babbled, “Papa, wake up, wake up.  It is five five!  Five five!  Five five!”  Her father, already having awoken and dressed, stood still on the other side of the door.  He pressed his pelvis firmly into the stained wood and smiled. 

The motive for such actions arose from the halls of history.  In the paternal family’s undocumented records, a series of events became traditional.  Every immediate family, from the time of the crossing of The Pond, bred one, peculiar child.  This child, once attaining the certain 5/5, would participate in a single round of hide and seek with their sexually opposed guardian.  The certain 5/5 is unique for individual members.  However, predominately, the age stands too high to search for monsters under the bed, appropriate to fear them, and too small to obtain the understanding that those very monsters lurk within the very owner of the age.  Having had his daughter finally reach the mark, the father was excited.  For today he would skin the hind of childhood, as both predator and prey ascended from juvenile mockery, and the games commenced.

Hide and seek dominated the recreational realm of the childhood his body once experienced.  Darkness and claustrophobia strangled the trachea – he appreciated the tormented grip.  For the father’s own progenitors, had lingered in kindness far too long.  As a celibate, the younger skin of his own craved a fall.  The game, ready or not.  The plummet of the lungs and stomach at the sound of “come” shook his corporeal being to the core.  Comical, is it not, that the reverberation of the collection of waves resembling the same word caught as a child, excite him to this day?  “Run,” the voices would yelp.  “Ascend one knee after another, as sweat condenses on the forehead, and vestal lips sputter in the wind.”  No pureblooded amalgamation of live atoms could hide in the game for long – limbs, without fail, crave the demand of application.  Appendages, games – thirst.

            The father partook in a game of his own nature.  The maternal clan decreed, “Children play games.”  He whispered through the worn opening, “I play back.”

            “What did you say, Papa?” whispered Adeline.  Her father avoided response, removed his enlarged pelvic region from the chipped barricade, and opened the door.  He picked up his daughter, and kissed her on the neck.  Subsequently, he murmured into his daughter’s hearing hole, “Go hide.”

            Adeline returned to the floor with the aid of her father’s tightly gripped hands, and ran off.  Her hair bobbled as she ascended one knee after another, as sweat condescended on her forehead, and vestal lips sputtered in the wind.  She knew exactly where to hide.  She had analyzed this moment in her mind for weeks. 

            As his daughter excitedly raced off into hiding, the father lay on his bed.  His body remained over the cream colored covers, but his right arm slid under the numb body of his wife.  She was cold.  A tarnished type of frost coated the female member – a description best fit as impure.  An exact time has not been pinpointed, but at some instance, she had smudged herself, unknowingly.  She knew not the cause for the smudge, and in response, withdrew herself from interaction.  Her husband became cold.  A hard and warm type of ice coated the male member.  He stiffened with disgust, nonetheless, the remembrance of the previous night made him smile.  He recollected the sullying of the eyelashes of his wife and the consequent plucking of the very hairs from her seeing holes’ scalps.  Only the lashes on all five ends remained.  Once his wife fell into slumber, the man licked her lids and pasted the fibers of keratin onto her forehead.  Eventually, the man retracted his arm out from underneath the wife, and began his quest across the lonely home. 

            He exited the threshold.

            Once out in the hall, a small object of matter caught the father’s greasy eye.  An outlined flower of reddened, translucent petals laid dormant on the knotted wood plank.  The father wandered closer, descended to his knees, and halted.  The object was no such flower.  The nails of a child had been arranged in the shape of a natural figment of nature.  The nails had slightly yellowed, rusting into a more opaque form, while blood splattered their surface and stained their shape.  Each nail had a minuscule hole. 

            At the site of such atrocity, the father panicked.  He called out for his daughter’s name and began on a direct route to the child’s room.  Pure, he thought.  Pure.  He reached the threshold, and cleared the barricade. 

            In front of her bed lay young Adeline.  Her body was wrapped in off-white curtains.  The father calmed.  The man undid the bondage.  He smiled.  It was time.  Once unwrapped, the father lifted his daughter’s limp arm.  The hand had been mutilated.  Each of the five fingers had experienced molestation – nail was missing and a thin scrape, starting from the center of what would have been the area dedicated to the nail, extended outward.  The skin of the scrape appeared chewed.  Blood clotted in the cavern and oozed out from the crevice-like cave of the missing protective piece.  The pinky was altogether absent.

            The father cradled the hand of his daughter, using more than just his own gripper.  For him, appendages liked to be applied.  He thereafter, continued with the unraveling of the child. 

            Immediately, his lungs and stomach plummeted as his body shook to the core.  Plastered all over his shaved daughter were miniscule hairs.  The same plastering he had used on his wife, drenched his daughter.  The man grabbed his groin with shock.  Each hair, no longer than half a centi-meter, hugged his daughter.  They enveloped every fold and crease.  Penetrated all openings, and laid on all five limbs. 

            The father shook.  His hands began shaking.  His teeth began chattering.  The enamel in his whites lashed against one another, developing foam, as the tongue intertwined with the jaw, and the fingers abused the uvula.  His feet began feeling uncontrollably hot.  He pushed them into his daughter’s stomach.  He began feeling the half centi-meter hairs dance in-between his toes.  He began biting his lip.  He began biting his lip so hard.  He began biting his lip so hard it bled.  He began biting his lip so hard it bled.  He began biting his lip so hard it bled.  He began biting his lip so hard it bled.

            He began to touch his groin.  He unbuckled his pants.  Discharge.  He was bleeding.  But the blood was pink.  He grabbed his member an

d laid down next to his daughter.  He desperately belted, “ You were the one.  The one.  My daughter, you were the one.  The pure.  Purity.  I had found purity.  Hide and seek.  You hid, and I sought.  I found your purity.   I would discover your purity.  Invent it.  You were pure.  Pure.  Pure.  Pure.  Pure.  Pure.  I would break that.  I would devour it.  For you were my predator and I was your prey.  We were hide and seek.”

            As her husband lay next to the child covered in the off-white cloth, the wife grinned.  She stood tall and erect in the threshold, draped in her nudity and the eyelashes of her own.  She breathed in the scent of the room, so powerfully, her stomach contracted.  Through the paled and contracted skin of her own, a finger depicted its indentation in the area of her stomach. 

            The morning Adeline asked to play hide and seek, her father cracked a smile.

          - J. A. Kind

Art Exhibition: 7 - Face

This is a face.  I drew it.  I can make more.

     - J. A. Kind

Madmen and Quakers

I am a free Donald Draper - no, that statement bathes in contradiction.  Nonetheless, I, the unpaid advertiser, shower the scanners of the cyberspace with knowledge of my coming attraction.  Features of my work will be exhibited on a site quite like this.  

Said site belongs to my educational campus.

Said site owns a link.

Said site's link.

      - J. A. Kind

Excerpt: 1 - Untitled

Excerpt from a piece of boredom and desperation.  Beware the breeding of cusses.

Was the sky as blue as it is now when the dinosaurs roamed the Earth?  Did their scale-scarred eyes and fear induced insomnia witness the brights of blues and the serenity of an explosive, unexplainable sunset?  Stop – I sound like such a jackass for asking this, but come on, it’s an honest question.  I know the reason it’s blue and shit is because of all the light and elemental chemicals in the sky and how it curves or whatever; but really, was it the same color?  As I walk down the path to Mr. Gleason’s apartment I realize that I have two hypotheses, I think that’s the right word – I sleep in biology, or at least I try to.  The first h word is that nowadays there is more goddamn shit in the air like smog and crap from China, like so that we wouldn’t be able to see all of the bright colors as clearly as dinosaurs did.  Wait, could dinosaurs even see colors? I hate bright colors by the way.  I mean calm the fuck down.  You have no right to get all up in my grill.  I don’t know, I guess I don’t like it when people get too close.  But I mean, back the fuck off.  Jack Daniels always has it in just the right balance that way.  He has his friends and his boys, but they’re all not too close.  He is still shrouded in that mystery.  I mean, he’s still a jackass, such an annoying prick, trying to act all cool and shit, but in the end he’s got it.  One day, Jack and I were partners in Latin.  I fucking hate that class.  It’s a dead language, you know.  Why even teach it if it’s gone?  I get about the dinosaurs and how that relates, they actually lived, but dead things that never really existed like Latin, I just have no appreciation.  Why appreciate - anyways, dead things cannot come back to life, at least I think.  There I go again, the world energies and fuck, getting all spiritual and shit.  I don’t really know what my religion is, some people are like no, once you’re gone, you’re just a bag of bones.  My parents, I think, believe in Heaven and Hell.  Bunch of liars and jackasses, I tell you.  They all try and act all perfect and never commit sins, but we all know they’re fucking it and themselves up in the shadows.  Religion, the climactic source of all energy.   People should be allowed to choose.  Oh, and don’t get me started with those shit eaters, you know, those kids that are strange as fuck and believe in the reincarnation stuff.  They’re all high as shit.  Honestly, I wouldn't know though - I mean, I’ve never smoked; I tell people I have, but I always pussy out before I get the chance.  I just worry too much that I’ll do something stupid and people will see me.  People don’t get second chances anymore.  You have your fate and you can’t change it.  Well, I mean, I don’t know.  I think that fate is either fate like it is what it is, even when you think that you are changing it, fate already knows that you were about to do that and has all your mistakes planned out and all your decisions made - or its the other, darker one.  Honestly, I like the first a lot more than the one that lurks in the back of my mind.  It has been eating away at my brain for the past couple days.  I know, its pretty lame, but its true – I’m an honest guy, really.  Maybe, you can change your fate.  Like work hard enough and then boom, its different.  But then that would mean the rest of your life would be different.  That’s not the thing that bothers me though.  The fucking weird as shit shit that freaks me the fuck out, is that the two would both be the same fucking fate.  You kill Bill in one, and he still dies in the other.  Either way, you’re fucked.  And you know, I can’t get a fucking minute to think about anything anymore.  But it’s not the people around me and my room, which is always loud from the echoes and reverberations of the “neighbors” that keep me up at night.  It’s inside me.  I can’t fucking focus.  I used to be so good at memorization.  Back when we were little, my sister and I would battle each other in memory games, the states, the capitals, shit like that.  Now, and ever since we both got fucked up, I cant.  Obviously she still can.  Three years younger and three grades above.  Not really, but she might as well be.  Either way I got the short end of the long stick, I think that’s the expression.  I’m not short, trust me, I’m tall, probably about five eleven now.  Short people got it rough though; I mean you can’t even try to change that.  Your fate is fixed.  They can smoke a joint or take some meds and get cancer or shit like that, but they’re still going to be fucking short as fuck.  Little fuckers, I mean they all try and act cool like they got all their shit together, but you know it, you can see it in their eyes. Haha, Ruby was pretty tiny, but it’s different with girls, you know.  It’s cute.  The small girls always have the walk, you know. With the little Converses or whatever, and the tight jeans. "Walkers."

I had a dream.  Not one where I was asleep but one of the ones that blocks my vision and blurs my mind.  It was a memory that my intellect formed from the dust that had fucking collected in the wasteland that is my skull.  Deep, I know.  Sometimes it shows and cracks its way through.  I fucking try and hide that shit.  I actually tried to act stupid around Ruby - told her I smoked, partied, played three varsity sports, you know, "Jack Danieled."  I even made her believe I had an alcoholism problem, all through text and crap.  I don’t know – she was just so beautiful.  Her hair, I don’t know what its called, but it was all like choppy and stuff, but still looked so soft, like a little store shop teddy bear.  Fuck, what the hell.  Anyways, I was at the beach, no it was more like a cliff.  Wish I was there now - but instead I have to tell Gleason that my fucking clock is up with the shop.  A bunch of bullshit, if you ask me.  Anyways, the cliffs - the stone was rocky, rough to the touch, yet calm enough to have crests that mimicked the arches of the waves that served as skilled sets of accompaniment to the underwater organisms.  Lucky bastards - always swimming around, hidden by the thick, moist blanket of their home.  Ha - Ruby hates the word moist.  I'd tell her to calm down, its just a word, but scaring walkers never ends up right.  Fuck - what even is right.

     - J. A. Kind

Art Exhibition: 6 - Five Fingered Discount

rain    rain    go    away    droplets    say    five    fingered    way



      - a writer and J. A. Kind