i am the chill running up your spine.

the blood drops out my nose to the floor and the luminol flashes an undeniable glow.
and i can feel the vomit purring just below my larynx,
ready to coat my vocal chords and fill my mouth with bile.
fists soar through the air, and i tear at my skin.
this skin is nauseating.
i am covered with toxins, seeping into my pores from the inside.
fuck. get it off of me.

yes, you can come take a look within… this revulsion staking a claim, shoving itself into a comfortable spot just below my sternum — gorging on my core.
come hold my rotting body in your arms.
let me feed on you

i will consume you.
i will consume you.
i… will… consume… you.
close your eyes. you'll never know what happened.

words © 2005 by k. all rights reserved; nothing may be reproduced without written consent of theeverlastingfunstopper

ben franklin walked these streets

photograph © 2005 by k. all rights reserved; nothing may be reproduced without written consent of theeverlastingfunstopper

outside of the car window...

photograph © 2005 by k. all rights reserved; nothing may be reproduced without written consent of theeverlastingfunstopper

a fine display

photograph © 2005 by k. all rights reserved; nothing may be reproduced without written consent of theeverlastingfunstopper

of course (not)

photograph © 2005 by k. all rights reserved; nothing may be reproduced without written consent of theeverlastingfunstopper

where were you, when it was in me?

photograph © 2005 by k. all rights reserved; nothing may be reproduced without written consent of theeverlastingfunstopper

the sandpiper is wondering where you went...

photograph © 2005 by k. all rights reserved; nothing may be reproduced without written consent of theeverlastingfunstopper

do you know?

read the complete 9.11 timeline

photograph © 2005 by k. all rights reserved; nothing may be reproduced without written consent of theeverlastingfunstopper

mystic, connecticut. april 2000.

a sizable part of my soul is still lying, blue and unresponsive, on the gummy floor of a hotel room in mystic, connecticut. it wasn't too far from the spot in this photograph, a small island monastery surrounded by rock and accessable by a manmade bridge that cuts into the choppy atlantic. i took this photo after many sleepless, intoxicated days and nights. i had to get out of the room. there isn’t much i connect with from this time, other than the stinging cold, wynn bullock photographs, white flashes burning my eyes, and the rotten stench of tequila gurgling up from my gut.

the beating stopped. air escaped. muscles loosened. organs failed.

i will never go back. never.

photograph and words © 2005 by k. all rights reserved; nothing may be reproduced without written consent of theeverlastingfunstopper