KZ Writes Good
The internet is a huge bathroom wall, and any halfwit with a keyboard and a connection has an opportunity to scrawl on it. Take me, for instance. My name is KZ. For a good time, come find me at Prosaic Shades of Gray.
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Inside Thoughts
December 7, 2010 // 22 Comments -
"Abbott & Costello" Ain't Got Nothing on "Dawn & KZ"
October 8, 2010 // 20 Comments -
Songs for Sale
March 8, 2003 // 17 Comments -
Winning Without Trying
November 3, 2010 // 16 Comments -
Casanova KZ
December 3, 2008 // 13 Comments
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At the Risk of Drawing Attention to Myself...
May 7, 2012 // 2 Comments -
The Answer (Conversation with God Continued)
April 20, 2012 // 2 Comments -
Weapons of Jazz Destruction
March 20, 2012 // 6 Comments -
Good Night, Gentle Dreamers
March 14, 2012 // 3 Comments -
The Conundrum of Human Empathy
March 12, 2012 // 3 Comments
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May 12, 2012
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Everything everybody does can be considered mundan ...
May 11, 2012 -
My avatar sure is creepy looking.
May 8, 2012 -
It seems ironic that you think this piece has neve ...
May 8, 2012 -
Since you insist. Killjoy. Grump. God, it f ...
May 7, 2012
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Maybe My Verses Ain’t That Free
It feels like there’s no room left for poetry in my life these days. I’ve been living too long as a responsible adult — working long hours, paying my bills on time, and falling asleep earlier than I often plan to because I’m just so damned tired most nights of the week. The potential for poetry in my life has been greatly marginalized by the soul-sucking rut of the middle class survival game. All I do is work, eat, sleep when I can, and lament the shortness of my weekends. Color me disenchanted.
You know what counts as poetry in my life these days? Poetry is a concise, perfectly crafted e-mail message sent to my office inbox, free of grammatical errors and irritating ambiguities that require follow-ups and clarification. Poetry is a properly balanced petty cash report which requires little else of my attention aside from my approval signature. Poetry is drafting a monthly financial status report, and not having any variances or major discrepancies to explain by the time I’m through with it. Poetry is uninterrupted workflow, free of surprises and comfortably mundane.
My world is looking a little gray and blah these days, but what else is new? I’ve been trying to shake the same case of blahs all year long. Something needs to change. I don’t exactly know what I’m looking for anymore. I just know something’s missing. Maybe I should just place my trust in Paintball to lead me out of this forest of blahs.
Meh, I say. M-to-the-eh.
You too, huh? If it's any consolation, we do eventually die. Ok, I'll go now.
Haha nice. Your comments are always the funniest, Nicky.