Hilarious

I overheard my co-worker Sissy saying this last night:

"Well, he was going to Pastor Brown's church.  But he had to quit going because they turned him gay."

Hmmm...not sure that's exactly how it works.

10:24 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

The Sun was out Today

Re-reading that piece I posted a couple of days ago hurt my brain.  Boy, I was producing some stuff that I was really proud of back then but that piece wasn't one of them.  Well, I remember being proud of it when I wrote it but time hasn't been good to it.

I posted that poem the night before my birthday.  It was a bad night.  My birthday was even worse.  I had to work that day.  I wasn't supposed to see Katie until the next day, when we were supposed to go to a Bluegrass festival.  But she had to come over after I got off of work because I was genuinely suicidal.  She talked me down and took care of me even when I tried to be mean to her.  The next day wasn't much better, though Katie did everything she could to keep me happy.  She took me out to lunch and then, instead of going to the Bluegrass festival, we went and saw a funny movie.

Today was mostly the same way.  I felt really down the entire day.  But around ten at night or so, things started to level out.  I'm now at least sane enough to realize that I need to get back on my medication as soon as possible.  Once I'm on my medication again I'll be able to at least function normally.  It's not a solution, but it's the only logical first step.

Perhaps a lot of people are this way but I've just recently started to realize that I have at least two personalities.  The first one, Normal Pat, wants a simple life with a good woman and artistic pursuits.  The second one, Chaos Pat, exists solely to destroy anything that Normal Pat builds up.  I went over all this with Katie the other day.  Working it out in a conversation was the only way that I could actually figure it out.  Check it out: Normal Pat starts college thinking he will be a writer/Chaos Pat switches to film.  Normal Pat wants to graduate college/Chaos Pat drops out and spends all his time in bars.  Normal Pat wants to be married/Chaos Pat wants to go to Philadelphia, leaving his wife alone with bills and cats and an apartment.

It keeps going.  I build something up and then I destroy it.  I've broken up with most of my girlfriends for little to no reason.  Or the reason was that I was bored or wanted to do something else.  Hell, I spent two years trying to get my ex-wife to divorce me.  And I broke up with Katie in late November last year....for no reason at all.....I just did it.  Luckily, as was definitely not the case with my wife, after I realized my mistake, Katie took me back.

Anyway, I think the reason for my depression these past few weeks has been that I've been in a total, deep regret over all the major things that  Chaos Pat caused me to lose.  Looping them in my mind over and over again.

So now at least I recognize the problem.  And I don't think I'll come close to any solution until my head is straight.  And so I get back on my meds.




Overall, this has been a shitty month or so.  Around July 10th or so, I noticed that I had to go to the bathroom all the time.  I didn't have any insurance so instead of going to a urologist, which I probably should have done in the first place, I went to one of those doc-in-the-box's and got some medication.  Didn't do any good.  So I went back.  She gave me some different medications.  Did a little good, but she didn't give me enough.  The symptoms got a lot better but they came back a few days later.  So I finally made an appointment with a urologist.  I had to wait two weeks before the appointment.  The symptoms got worse, until they were pretty much back to where they had been at the beginning, when I got up seven to ten times a night to urinate.   So the urologist says that I have prostatitis and gives me some different medication.  Now I only have to get up a couple of times a night.  The pills are working but they just can't seem to finish the job.  It's getting to where I barely remember being able to walk around without feeling like I have to piss.  Plus, the doctors visits and the meds cost over a thousand dollars.

Anyway, yeah, thanks everyone for the kind birthday wishes.  It made things a little better.  And believe me, feeling a little better means a lot when you're on the brink.

9:18 PM - 3 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Staring into the Abyss, or, It's my Birthday

It's my birthday today.  It's not a good one.  The abyss is starting to stare back at me.  Things will probably get worse before they get better.  I hope not.  But that's the way these things seem to work.

Anyone remember Babel Magazine?  It was the first site that published me, in mid-2002.  I was reading through the archives and I came across the piece I've posted below.  From December 2002.  It's not my best work, by any means.  But it was strange reading it.  Only six years ago.  I seemed so happy then.  The piece is about my ex-wife.  I have a girlfriend that is very good to me now and I hope posting this isn't awkward for her.  It's not the way I feel now.  Just a weird snapshot that I managed to keep in my back pocket for a while.  A picture of a sort of starry-eyed kid who thought that his potential was damn near unlimited.  A romantic even.  I don't think I have much in common with the person I was then.  I don't think we'd be able to share drinks.  I don't think we'd have much to talk about.

------------------------------
....

	Meditation # 2: On the Day I First Loved Kathy byPatrick King
	Come dance with me before we die. The sun a shining early July spectacle. Warm but not hot. Unusual for an Alabama summer day. She killed me once with her timid beauty. She killed me again with her laugh. It was a first date and unlikely pairing. Catholic high-schooler and nineteen-year old former burnout. I smoked cigarettes and worried that she would hate me for it. We had lunch and she tipped her glasses (they were slipping off of her nose). It was supposed to be a typical first date: Let's get some food and see a movie. Let's sit in the dark so we won't have to talk. Let's shake hands and be good buddies and order a second date and another movie. But the sun was beating on the windows. The restaurant seemed to be closing in on me. And I didn't want to be silent. Kathy, could you imagine what would have happened if we had just gone to the movies? And I wanted to talk. And I wanted to know this sixteen-year old girl in front of me. So we got into my car and I nervously smoked and didn't talk, just inhaled and exhaled the fumes and fire from my lungs. Fire like passion. Passion like Kathy. We found a park and a tree and opened ourselves up to the smallest details of our lives. And I wanted to kiss you, Kathy. But you were so pure, and I was so dirty.   We loved each other as if we were intertwining pieces of silk; reds and blues flowing from a canvas of water. Two years and two months and we were married. A Catholic wedding. The ex-burned out acid-eating vodka chugging man that was Patrick King becoming now a man not with one life, but two. Like dirt mixing with crystal, we became another single creature. Kathy, come dance with me before we die.

9:30 PM - 5 Comments - 7 Kudos - Add Comment

1,000th Monkey

Before I left the Guild of Outsider Writers, I helped edit their first print/pdf zine, the 1,000th Monkey.  It actually looks quite incredible.  Contains book reviews, interviews and plenty of sarcasm.  Here is the direct link: 1,000th Monkey

And here's the Outsider Writers website:

Outsider Writers

Currently reading : The Golden Age: A Novel By Gore Vidal Release date: 2001-09-18

1:51 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

I have left the Guild of Outsider Writers

This is my official announcement.  I will not be returning.  It's nothing personal.  I like everyone I've worked with there.  I just don't believe in the project anymore.  I'd rather spend my time writing. And being left alone.

8:12 AM - 6 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Recently Published Work

The following are links to short stories of mine that have been published online.  I'm not doing much these days.  Mainly just writing.  So there should be some new to add eventually.

Exit Nothing

Thieves

The Meat Suite

6:56 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Redneck Kafka Chapbook: Reviewed by David Blaine
Current mood: chipper
Category: Writing and Poetry

The Redneck Kafka and other Stories
written by Pat King

review by David Blaine

The Redneck Kafka and Other Stories was written by Pat King.  Pat has collected six of his better short stories in this chapbook, which he published through LuLu.Com.

Pat claims this book is fictional autobiography.  I feel his  writing hovers between traditional story telling al la Faulkner and something by Isaac Asimov. 

 Pat's work covers timely and perhaps controversial issues facing those who question our society.  in The Sound of a Birth the male protagonist falls in love with a lesbian, and Hours Beyond the Pale is a gay love story.  My favorite of this group was the first and title story, The Redneck Kafka, a story about a young writer seemingly unable to help himself, or accept help from others.  Some of the works require a stretch to consider as a short story.  I would view the second selection, Watching, as a poem, since each line is a separate paragraph.

But settling on a genre label isn't important.  What is collected here are stimulating narratives from a young writer destined to publish significant work in the future. 

Pat is a founding member of The Guild of Outsider Writers.
You may order his book at LuLu.Com

Currently reading : Big Sur By Jack Kerouac Release date: 01 June, 1992

4:45 PM - 4 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Outsider Writers: We are Live
Category: Writing and Poetry

Originally published on the Outsider Writer's website Outsider Writers

News
Posted by Leopold McGinnis
Tuesday, 20 March 2007
Alright fellow Outsider Writers...we're leaving.

We have long ago established that the media, mainstream presses and academic lit-farms aren't interested in what we're doing. It's no secret that we don't think they're doing a very good job either. And yet, we've always felt we've had to beat our heads against their wall. For too long we have been following someone else's rulebook…a rulebook to a game nobody is interested in! Is it not time writers wrote their own rulebook?

Here is the Outsider Writer equation: Author + Readers = Literature. It's a direct path. And there are no rules to get there. There is no standard by which we can judge ourselves or our work but by our own! We're packing our bags, declaring the media and mainstream presses dead and leaving this dusty town that never loved us anyway.

The outsider writer, by nature, is a solitary, independent creature. We're kinda pathetic, actually. Divided, we're just mopey teenagers with black fingernails and trenchcoats and long hair. Together we're a frigging freak-on rave party, man! We know that the most exciting literary talent lies with independent authors, but we are uncoordinated, unable to individually achieve critical mass to get our work out there.

So we're starting a road trip and we're cramming everyone possible into the car. Where are we going? We're not quite sure, but we know how we're going to get there. We are an advocacy group. A think tank. A union. An information clearing house and a bunch of other stuffy words we probably won't ever use again. But we're open to ideas and doing whatever it takes to reach and make new audiences. We're outsider writers, for frig's sakes, isn't it about time we promoted our writing in an 'outside' way too? And did I mention our car shoots flames, has several steering wheels, a cannon (NOT a canon) and several slushy machines? Don't touch the hot dogs though, they've been rolling on the meat sunbed for weeks…

We are a central location for outsider writers to unite, combine forces, share information, strategize and coordinate projects, connect and talk about rad stuff like the Ultimate Warrior, melty dwarfs or rich people who sniff bicycle seats. We will join forces where we are strong, eliminate duplication of effort where we are weak and do what we can to put the power and authority over literature back into the hands of the only legitimate owners: the authors and the readers. And we will have fun doing it.

OW!r Plan:

You tell us! We're currently a very young organization. We've got a lot of ideas, but ultimately failure or success depends on you and all other outsider writers – your help and participation are crucial. This ain't a free ride – it's an adventure and contributing is part of the fare.

Currently reading : The Fountains of Neptune (American Literature (Dalkey Archive)) By Rikki Ducornet Release date: June, 1997

10:23 AM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

outsiderwriters.org

What are Outsider Writers? Why do they have a website? What are they trying to do? Some info below!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OW was founded in February 2007 by five underground authors with a similar drive for outsider writer activism/advocacy. Why OW? Because being an underground writer can be painful.We had been members of the same organization, but felt the need to create our own space...my space, not your space, not their space, and certainly not outer space...heck, we wanted a room of our own (we heard the Wolf at the door!)At first we simply were emailing each other. Three of us living in Canada, but in different Provinces, while two of us still live in the United States, and do not have socialized medicine. Over the course of a week, the emails evolved from a discussion of why we had left the other organization and into a plan to create a group that met our needs, desires and fetishes. Actually, evolved is not quite the word: explosive birth is more like it. Soon we had agreed without even realizing it that we would form a new organization.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


Our principles:


1. no cannibalization. Plenty of others eat writers, why should we eat ourselves (is that quite the proper phrase?) We are here to promote writing and to make our lives as writers easier. We want to be open minded, to be accepting and flexible to our members and network.



2. our members are writers too. Actually, our members are writers FIRST! In fact, our members MUST be writers! This is an organization by writers and for writers.



3. No dead weight among our members. We do not have the time for members who are here just to warm a seat, or bask in the glory of being an OW member. We are not interested in members who play with their, uh, members. All OW members should have at least one project related to our goals. As we grow, so will the number of projects! This can only be good for underground writers!



4. Underground and Independent writers only. If you have a mainstream publishing contract, would we say no? Well, that would be on a case by case basis. Stephen King, we'll listen to you.



5. Underground and independent publishers are also welcome to join, because in the end they share our goals. Corporate presses, publishers which are part of the vertical integration of a multinational corporation...etc... need not apply. We wish such presses the best of luck provided they publish thought provoking material and not "If I Did Murder My Wife and Her Boy Friend, This Is How I Would Have Done It Not That It's Any Of Your Business But Hell I'm Getting A Lot Of Money."



6. Have fun. Cause why else the fuck would you do anything? Well, assuming you do fuck for fun. Have you ever wondered why the words we have for making love are also the words we use to describe making a mistake?



7.Open minds, open communication. We will not cut ourselves off from any section of the lit world as long as doing so does not affect or interfere with our stated 'purpose'. To change the world, we all have to work together. We want friends, not enemies.


8.We are SHOWING the way, not begging for it, nor complaining about the sorry fate of literature. We are not a bunch of whiners, we are doers. We are not interested in seeking the attention of the mainstream media or corporate presses. Our goal is to create audiences and markets OUTSIDE of these narrow-minded, tightly-controlled funnels. They have their world, we have THE world. The media and corporate presses are irrelevant. If they want to use us for a fifteen second sound bite, we'd likely say no. However, if we can use them to promote underground writing, we might just consider that.



9. No self-serving members. This is a co-operative of like-minded artists. There are places for egos and chest-beating but when it comes to our project, this is not the place for them.

3:08 PM - 8 Comments - 12 Kudos - Add Comment

Excerpt from Exit Nothing

Her name was Agitia and she once locked me in her bathroom for a week. Without any food and only the water from the sink to sustain me, I quickly grew soggy and my knees buckled and I fell. I was on the tile floor moaning and twisting, until I gave up totally and lay on my back and closed my eyes, giving up, submitting to the experience.
A week later (or so it seemed….hard to tell what's time and not in Organ City) Agitia opened the bathroom door. I heard it squeak and open and then I heard her heavy feet walking toward me. She sat down near my head.
Agitia stuck two fingers in my mouth and opened it a little. Cold water trickled into my mouth. I swallowed, savagely thirsty. The water woke me a little and I was able to open my eyes. Agitia smiled at me and lifted my head a little, placing it in her lap.
"You poor thing," she said, stroking my hair. "But you know I love you. I love you so much."
She got up carefully and put her hands underneath my armpits. She dragged me to the toilet. With a little effort, she was able to lift me onto the toilet seat. My body flopped forward, my head facedown in my groin.
"Poor, poor thing," she said.
She took my shirt off and threw it on the floor. She ran her fingers through my long brown hair.
"It'll all be over soon," she said.
Then, a pressure on my back. I was too zonked and dizzy to realize, at first, what exactly was happening. Then, suddenly, I knew that she was digging her fingers into my back. I screamed.
"Shhhh," she said.
She showed me her fingers. My green and black blood covered them.
"This," she said, "is love."
I closed my eyes. I the black underneath my eyelids was somehow spinning, spiraling. My throat tightened and I gagged. Then I vomited. And then, nothing. I passed out.
I woke up (how long had passed?) on my belly. I was back on the floor, stripped totally naked. The tile was cold. I felt a horrendous pain in my back. Something was being pushed into the meat and bones. I let out a small, sweet moan. My lover started stroking my hair.
"It's okay, baby," she said. "Momma's here."
Agitia put her hands on my head and turned it to the right. I saw no less than ten clear plastic tubes draining my green and black fluids into a red plastic garbage can that was sitting in the bathtub.
"It'll all be over soon," she said.
And I knew that it would. I closed my eyes. I started to smile. And, for the first time, I knew I really loved her.
It was too bad, then, that mere weeks later, while we were watching a movie at the theater, a raging pig, angry that she had been talking over the feature, turned around and snapped his jaw at her. He grabbed her by the throat, pulled her over the seat, and dragged her down the isle and out of the theater.
I never found her that night, and never saw her again.

Currently listening : For Blood and Empire By Anti-Flag Release date: 21 March, 2006

10:46 AM - 2 Comments - 5 Kudos - Add Comment