Wednesday, December 31, 2008

Kommentary Korner: A Critical Review of 2008

So it’s the end of the year, and that can only mean one thing: the ass-hats at The Kreation Korner want me to say a few retrospective words. I have resolved to do so, but only on my own terms, which is quite characteristic of my personality and temperament. Anyways, 2008 was just another year marked by high points and low points and occasional mid-elevation points. But who cares about the glass-half-full crap? Let’s focus on the negative.
The first major disappointment of the year came at the beginning of April when I was roped into attending a "spiritual journey" of sorts. Being my trademarked skeptical self, I considered the prospect of spending a month in the heart of America's rugged breadbasket to be of little-to-no educational value. After a borderline-irritating amount of coaxing from my friends and colleagues, I finally agreed—begrudgingly, mind you—to join them on their so-called "vision quest." At the risk of making an ass of myself and you, the reader, I assume that you have not had the distinguished opportunity to experience a vision quest such as the one I was "privileged" with. Therefore, I feel that I would be remiss in not warning you of their complete and utter worthlessness. I won't bore you with the details of what unfolded, but, suffice it to say, vision quests suck, so does nature, and so does Kansas. When the three collide—as they did most regrettably back in April—it’s a triumvirate of kreativity-draining, soul-crushing agony that must be avoided at all costs.
Another disappointment came in August when an audacious punk named Nash Stillwater brashly took issue with a kommentary of the film Back To The Future I wrote some months back. I was criticized for not retorting immediately to this saucy humanoid, but I had my reasons. Why didn’t I dignify his bold, unfounded claims with a response? Simple. They didn’t deserve to be dignified with a response. The only thing I have to tell to this Nash Stillwater character is that I was reviewing implausible time travel movies in Nam when he was extracting nourishment from his mama’s mammary glands.
Finally, the most compelling disappointment of 2008 began to surface in November. With the kreative energy of The Korner already hampered by economic woes, we began to see signs of the kontributors really losing their grip. For me, this was most evident in seeing them all cowering under a tarp that wouldn’t even be good shelter for firewood. I was ready to give up on The Korner. How could a group of once-great kreationists have gone off such a deep end? I myself had known hard times as a kid growing up with ten siblings on that domesticated wildebeest farm, but I never sacrificed my pride so far as to not keep a proper car to sleep in. But in light of all this verbal sturm und drang, I still have a shred of optimism in my bitter shell of a human body. Maybe 2009 will prove The Korner once again worthy of the qualifier “Kreation.”
All in all, 2008 was a pretty average series of 365 days. If you asked me how my year went, I’d say, “same shit, different year.” Catastrophic climate events and natural disasters, democratic election of political leaders, celebrity deaths and the births of those who will someday become celebrities, as if replacing those lost—we saw all this and more usual stuff that isn’t coming to mind at the moment. I can only hope 2009 will be so outrageously normal. --Peter Doe

Sunday, December 28, 2008

Fiction Korner

Marva said she’d always wanted to fly. I wasn’t about to stand in her way. After all, that would only interfere with the delicate takeoff procedure.
I’m not going to beat around the bush about all this. I’m not like that any more. The fact is, she flew that day. Right up into the clouds, don’t you know. She flew like the canary escaping the coal mine.
To be honest, I never thought she’d go airborne. Chasin' the wild blue yonder was easily the most ambitious of her various dreams. First it was regional croquet champion, then substitute parade marshal and now this.
I may not have a Master's degree in divine providence studies, but I know a miracle when one stimulates my sensory facilities. Seeing my Marvie soaring into the sky-colored firmament looming indifferently overhead with Icarus-avenging gusto made me believe in my own dreams again—dust off the old dream box, as it were. But night was falling, and my arms flap their best at 1:27pm. --Jawn Steighmeaus


Illustration by Chris Peebles

Friday, December 26, 2008

Back in the Day

The Korner brings you something new today, as we often do. We bring you a kautionary rant from K. Hume O'Henderbaum, a man far more advanced in years than any of our regular kontributors. This chronologically challenged being has a good message that we at the Korner have no qualms endorsing. Barring no holds, Mr. O'Henderbaum calls out the youth of our day and age and all the decadent excess they represent. All in all, we're pretty proud to bring his perspective to our forum. As the reader, we urge you to humor this geriatric as we have and discover that there is more to him than Werther's Originals and Matlock. He's actually pretty sharp for an old guy. Receive:

Those were honest times back in my day. Simple times. Honest and simple. That is, relative to the world these days. Certainly things weren’t entirely simple. It’s not like we were shamelessly running around naked, banging rocks together and painting rudimentary game herds on the walls of French caves. We had cars, clothes, cloths, curtains, coils of many kinds and other items beginning with other letters of the alphabet—which reminds me: we had the alphabet, too, to dispel a popular myth. We even had a song that made the alphabet easy to remember. We taught it to kids. It made them smart. The only exposure kids have to the alphabet these days is on their iPods or, to a lesser extent, Zunes.
But times change. Things become more complicated, less honest. But let me tell you: oh, how we had relative simplicity and honesty back then. You couldn’t walk ten feet without someone or something manifesting the simplicity and honesty of the times right before your eyes. Sure, we didn’t have all of today’s standard necessities like face transplants and devoted quesadilla appliances, but we had enough. We had each other. Folks had manners back then: we'd address elders as “sir” or “ma’am” depending on their gender. Men held doors for women expecting very little in return. So maybe our simple ways reinforced harmful stereotypes of women being feeble, incompetent, and needy, but at least we were honest about our chauvinism. Ask any man from back then, and he’ll use any or all three of those aforementioned adjectives to describe women as a whole.
Any more, it seems kids these days don’t care for wisdom unless it comes in the form of an Xbox coated in fast food eatery special sauce and bits of High School Musical memorabilia. They want to do things the way they want. They want to re-invent the wheel. But guess what, we had a wheel in my day and it wasn’t half bad. In fact, it was nearly round. Maybe we didn’t have the sophisticated twenty-first century technology and vocabulary to recognize what type of geometric shape our wheel was, but we were proud of it. We were proud of ourselves. We were all hardworking, upstanding, honorable citizens, scholars, and athletes back in those days. Hopefully the kids of today will wake up and start acknowledging the wisdom of the past before they fully succumb to the wiles of Soldier Boy promises and text message cunning.

Wednesday, December 24, 2008

Header Korner!

Holiday greetings! Just as the ugly duckling sheds its motley feathers to become the beautiful swan it was all along, so has the Kreation Korner header! While we at the Korner maintain a policy of staunch rejection of the status quo, we have been up to this point woefully ignorant of perhaps the first thing you readers view each time you visit this web log (or "blog", as some call it). Well, fret no more! Headed by the lovable blowhard known to all of you as Nash Stillwater, the Kreation Korner Header Committee have commissioned a series of works to be kreated in order to more fully realize the potential of the 600-pixel-wide top portion of this webpage. The first comes from maljohn, whose art and words have been known to cause a full-scale implosion of the mind, leaving behind a neat pile of rubble where the brain used to be. Good luck and view at your own risk.

Monday, December 22, 2008

Komedy Korner

Some jokes about church:

A man walked into a church and said, "ouch."

A man walked into a church and said, "I have an objection as to why this couple should not be interred."

A man walked into a church, knelt, and said, "Lord, I'm not usually a preying man, but if you give me a defenseless gazelle I'll devote my life to your service."

--Svetlana Mendoza

Thursday, December 18, 2008

Poet's Korner

Hey all you Kreationists and Kreationettes out there in Kreationland. Your friends here at The Korner have a special treat for you all: the one and only Cristobal D. Peebles II, aka Chris Peebles. Predictably, Dr. Peebles delivers his unique brand of unpredictable, subconscious-penetrating prose. Devour:

Sand is not nutritious
Nor is it delicious
Unless you have it
with BBQ sauce
My favorite is
Texas Chipotle Style
Damn near kept me alive
on that desert island it did

On the occasional day
when I was bored,
I'd call my insular prison
a "dessert island"
Kind of an inside joke between
Ol' Scott the Parrot and me.
We found it ironic because
there was no dessert to be found
on that gosh-forsaken isle
unless you consider seabird
feathers wrapped in palm fronds
an acceptable after dinner treat

On day 80 of my isolation a glass
beverage vessel washed ashore
It contained naught but a distress
document signed by some kind of
law enforcer named Sting
Despite the chart-topping syntax
I found the inscription pretentious
and dull

Sunday, December 14, 2008

Ask Peter

In order to stimulate some much needed kreative output during these times of economic shiftlessness and lethargy, the Korner board of directors recently hired the National Institute for Kreation Advancement--a for-profit think tank and konsulting firm. We admit that it is with much shame and brooding that we have resorted to soliciting outside help in these desperate times, but it takes a korner maturity and class to know when it's been beat. But let's not dwell on the past. The fact is, NIKA gave us some great pointers. During an appraisal of The Kreation Korner HQ, the konsultants stumbled across our massive pile of letters asking advice from our wisdom-monger at large Peter Doe. They suggested we parlay these inkwiries into an advice column of sorts so as to invigorate our increasingly stagnant web space. After hearing this, we all figuratively (and in a couple cases literally) kicked ourselves and, to paraphrase our overall kollective reaction, said, "why didn't we think of that?" After much koaxing and the promise of beaded seat covers for his LeSabre, our kaustic kommentator agreed--albeit reluctantly--to write a semi-regular advice column. Our hope is that Doe's unrelentingly spot-on kandor will help regain the Korner's past glory and, for the sake of full-disclosure, offset the massive debt incurred on the Korner by NIKA's exorbitant fees. But enough yackity-yack: here's the maiden voyage of "Ask Peter." Prepare to be imparted upon by sheer, unadulterated wisdom.

Dear Peter,
First of all, I want to say, I'm a big fan. Long time reader, first time writer. Any-hoo, I know that if I were talking to you in person you'd say, "cut to the freakin' chase already!" So I will do so presently. My problem goes back about three years when I thought it would be a good idea to buy nine lizards. Turns out, these exothermic reptiles are biologically incapable of maintaining homeostasis and require sunlight to regulate their internal body temperatures--thanks for excluding this little nugget of information, Keith from the pet store in the mall. Knowing what I know now, I probably would have purchased a pet more appropriate to my lifestyle as a cave dweller such as a bat or a mutant spelunker zombie. But now I'm stuck with these goddamn lizards that have grown weak from the conspicuous lack of light in my humble subterranean home. So here's my question: is it worth it to drastically change my lifestyle by moving to a well-lit above ground location or should I just let my lizards shrivel and die?
Sincerely,
Konflicted in Caveborough, UT

Dear Konflicted,
Great question. Well, it's not great, but it is pretty good. I mean, it's not the best question I've ever heard, but it's not the worst either. If I had to rank it amongst every question I've ever heard in my life, I'd say it's probably in the second or third tier, which, again, isn't the worst. But seriously, you don't honestly expect me to take everything I'm handed and say it's the best I've ever heard, do you? I mean, what does that do to my credibility? Christ, I've got a reputation to uphold. You expect me to fold like a tube top on laundry day just to stroke your precious ego? Well, think again, sir or madam. And another thing, where do you get off thinking I'd even care about your boring, stupid life? I've got a life of my own to take care of, you know. I don't have time to be bombarded by questions every minute of my waking life. All I want is a moment's peace. Is that so damn hard to ask?
Yours truly,
Peter Doe

-Please send all your inquiries to TKK's P.O. box. If you don't already know the exact address, then you don't deserve Mr. Doe's advice.-

Sunday, November 30, 2008

Whoomp There It Is!

Hello, all! In spite of our economic woes, we must continue! Special thanks go out to Hank Shelton for keeping this ship afloat in what seemed like the last hour. He has since been inducted as an honorary Kreationist.

But enough catch-up, here's the straight mustard. Submitted anonymously, this strident short story had all the markings of an original beatnik kreation. Resident counter-culture expert Tonny Ergheim's in-depth analysis of structure and syntax nearly confirmed it, but not before a nineteen-year-old Korner intern identified certain clues within the text that pointed to a later publication date. Regardless, these subtle hints are mere icing on this harsh, facts-of-life cake.

the mu zik flowed out his insterment like creame cheez on a litely toasted bagel he was a site to behold. changed the way the hole gang
thot.
the mob men were in town n causing ruukus all about well 1 nite thay happend upon old good davey. they say to him play us that what we luv so-well. play us that chumba
wumba. well davey about had a con-ipshun. he waled away at marcy playground insted. the boiz got to push-ing and fuss-ing so davey
changed his tune wunce more this time he layed down some 4 nonblondes.
chumbawumba they hollerd.
semisonic he playd. so
the mob
killed
hi
m.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Hi, this is Hank Shelton. I don't pretend to know what this "kreation korner" is. I don't even think it's spelled right, but that's beside the point. I recently found a cassette tape washed up in a storm drain near my house. Curiosity being one of my best qualities, I decided to have a listen and what I heard sounded pretty dire. Again, I AM IN NO WAY affiliated with the kreation korner, but I felt the need to warn whoever it is that this webpage pertains to anyway. Here is the message, as best I can understand it:

"Uh, folks, Nate Rhombus(?) here. We're real sorry about the current state of things, and we've tried to keep quiet in order to appease the investors, but, well, we seem to have run clean out of kreativity(?). Maybe all that brown acid we took a week or so back in a botched attempt at a group vision quest has finally taken its toll. Maybe the blame lies with the market -- most of us have had to sell our possessions and have now taken up residence in a lean-to out back of the Kreation Headquarters. Peter Doe refuses to join us. He's cooped up in his Buick LeSabre, but it's a convertible, so I don't really know how he plans to keep dry. Umm, what was I talking about? Oh yeah. Whatever the reason for our current predicament, it is indeed a sad state of affairs around the HQ of late. Many of us, ghosts of our former kreative selves, simply sit at the group television and laugh emptily at whatever programming the Weather Channel offers. Until further notice, just, uh, do, ummm, whatever I guess. Yeah. We'll figure something out."

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

Fountain of Youth

Today it is our great pleasure to bring to you, our devoted Kreationists, a glimpse into the mysterious past of one of the greatest Kreators known to man, woman, or in-between. Yes, ladies and gentlemen. We have unearthed early footage of a young Chris Peebles, which through extensive karbon dating is believed to be exactly two years, 235 days, and six hours old. It is not hard to see the nucleus of what would soon become legendary and unbounded kreation in these videos. Imbibe:

Monday, October 20, 2008

Fiction Korner

Breakfast is delicious. I take my eggs with a virgin screwdriver. A savory confection of cooked wheat flour and baker's yeast provides the perfect spreading surface for churned cow's milk.
I had just sat down to consume the aforementioned morning vittles when Frank arrived. I stared in shock, viscous maple tree sap dribbling down my chin, as he effortlessly did a backflip through the gaping hole in my exterior wall. How ironic. That was the day I was going to patch-up that hole. I had never intended it to function as a means of entry into my home for a person I really didn't like.
I never saw Frank the same way ever since he killed my father. Now he was in my house, one of seven places where I truly feel safe. All I could do was continue kneeling in my chair as he callously ate my pan-fried swine meat.
After 16 minutes I could no longer take it.
"Get out of here Frank!" I bellowed.
"Nine!" he replied defiantly. "It's a German number that also means 'no'"
Killing my father was one thing, but questioning my knowledge of the German language was quite another. Frank had gone too far. So I called the local law enforcement authority and had him arrested.

--Jawn Steighmeaus

Komedy Korner

Here's the latest erudite jest from Svetlana Mendoza. If you merely pass it off as crude and low-brow, the Korner extends you our deepest sympathies. Absorb:

Q: What do you call an erection at a funeral?

A: Mourning wood.

Monday, September 22, 2008

International Korner

We at the Korner are constantly on the look-out for new and earth-shattering kreations, but until this point it seems we've been stuck in the first-world power player known as the United States of America. Have we forgotten about the rest of the world? Regrettably, yes. But that is about to change on this day. Our field reporter Steev Josh has unearthed a fragmented verse of what he has deduced is part of an ancient Bangladeshi folk song. The words are startling and clear. Get a load of this!

I close the eye
A single moment gone only for a moment
Slipping away
The instant all that my dream gives to the before in curiosity

Paying dust in wind
We are all that is the dust in wind

Now do not hang
No things lasts for ever not, but the grounds and the heaven
It escapes
And your money all of it will not purchase a minute

Shake the powder in the wind
All that we are is powders in the winds

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Kommentary Korner

Greetings, fellow Kreationists. Long-time reader, first-time kontributor. Having plumbed the depths of the Korner, I find little to disagree with. Except, that is, when it comes to a crotchedy old fool by the name of Peter Doe, whose ill-conceived thoughts on the cinematic classic "Back To The Future" were not appreciated by yours truly. So, in the interest of fairness, I offer to you my own thoughts on the matter. First off, "Back To The Future" is easily the best time-travel-action-adventure film of 1985. It is also, in your humble writer's opinion, the apex of Zemeckis-directed, Spielberg-produced cinema revolving around a DeLorean. Believe me when I tell you, that is a tough category to judge, with many worthy contenders. So what about the performances? The acting is, in a word, stellar; never has the combination of Michael J. Fox, Christopher Lloyd, Lea Thompson, Crispin Glover, and Thomas F. Wilson been so potent. The time-tested storyline of "boy travels back in time, boy interferes with his parents' meeting, boy must save his own existence" has never been quite so poignant as in this true masterpiece. And I must say that in all my years of movie watching, I have never so enjoyed a 1950s-styled chase scene involving a skateboard and a manure truck as when I viewed "Back To The Future" for the first time. Luckily, as with a fine wine, this modern classic only gets better with age. It's almost sad that a prude like Peter Doe must show his superiority through round criticism of another's work. That is certainly nothing I would ever do, and I hope that one day his square mind can appreciate "Back to the Future" for the gem it really is.

-Nash Stillwater

Friday, August 1, 2008

The Korner Kares... More!

This week's edition of "The Korner Kares" comes straight from the mouth of Nathan Rhombus, a prolific writer with whom we've had the good fortune of collaborating for further inspired and inspiring kreations that are sure to optimize even the strongest of pessimists. Enjoy the komfort of kreation.

You are a train of high speed.
You are a beautiful animal.
You are as the sprinkles on a half-eaten donut
abandoned in the gutter.
Bright confectionary reminders of
life's good things.
You are the paint on
a painter's pair of painter's pants
reminding him of his painterly destiny.
You are.
You
are.

-Nathan Rhombus

Thursday, July 17, 2008

Kommentary Korner

If there's one thing I can't tolerate, it's intolerance. So many people are so prejudiced that they prejudge others based solely on their physical appearance and, to a lesser extent, their odor. The truth is, there is often more to people than what their exteriors provide. For me, race, body type, stature, gender and facial features--no matter how bizarre--aren't important. I'm what you could call "color blind," in the non-medical sense of the term. I look beyond what's on the outside and strive to understand who people truly are. My first reaction upon encountering another individual is not "oh, look, a Korean person," or "hey, you're a woman," or "you're a cute puppy." No, my first reaction is, "I bet that formless, nondescript mass of tissue over there has an interesting life story and has a lot of unique interests." The problems plaguing our world such as famine, disease and poorly designed cereal boxes are not the result of economic carelessness or political instability. Oh no. These crises are exclusively caused by prejudice and unless the world breaks out of this intolerant funk as I have, humanity will go extinct within the next several days.--Peter Doe

Friday, July 11, 2008

The Korner Kares

Grettings and salutations from all of us at The Korner! Today, we are proud to bring you a new feature which we hope will allow each and every one of you to realize your full potential through simple and practical advice. For this first installment of Korner Kares, we've teamed up with Percy Stankowski to create a straightforward message to all you folks who just can't seem to squeeze the nectar of joy from the fruit of life. No confusing half-truths here; this is the genuine article. Of course, this recommendation we bring to you is only the first, but with the help of several foKus groups, we have ascertained that this video will invariably infuse the viewer with indomitable thoughts of pure life victory and gaiety. Observe, all.

Wednesday, July 2, 2008

Fiction Korner

"Don't move," said the cat. "Struggling will only make the relish thicker."
The idea of a talkin' kitty wasn't astonishing to me. After all, I'd come to expect anything after discovering that mysterious condiment factory in the woods. Anyways, even if I was astonished there sure as hell wasn't any time for awe. I was up to my neck in minced sweet pickles, and as far as I was concerned, that gray tabby was my only ticket out of a deceivingly delicious death.
"Grab onto this rope, Dirk," said the cat, lowering down what was actually several tattered sheets tied together in thick knots. I climbed with all the strength I could muster. I'm eternally grateful this incident hadn't occurred a year earlier when I still had legs. That would have made the climb to safety nearly impossible.
At the top of the "rope", I grasped the steel grate of the catwalk. I coughed hard, releasing many ounces of relish from my lungs.
"Thanks," I said, gazing with admiration at my feline rescuer. "I'll name you Boots."
"Okay," said the cat.

--Jawn Steighmeaus

Saturday, June 21, 2008

Poet Korner

gimme them shoes
im gonna kick you with em.
im gonna kick you cuz you stole my
wallet.
no?
you lie. im gonna kick you harder.
yes, those shoes
with the velcro.
you know i can't tie a knot.
now you made fun of me, you know what happens?
i'm gonna kick you
HARDER.
feels like shit huh?
yeah well you just
hold yer tongue. you know
what'll happen
if you don't.

-maljohn.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Poet's Korner

Finally, after a long wait, the Kreation Korner is pleased to bring you the latest poetry from your favorite wordsmith, Chris Peebles. As per always, Peebles delivers korrosive konjugations, devastating denotations and pugilistic prose. The following represents everything the Kreation Korner stands for with delicate ruthlessness. (As the de facto authority on all things Kreation Korner, we feel qualified to make this bold claim.) We hope and know you will agree. Relish:

There's no more room in my hummus-addled brain.
In one ear, out the other--just like Sister Catherine
used to say.
She was right, though--I never did amount to nothin'.

Her words were like vanilla piss searing my Venezuelan
etch-a-sketch of a heart.
Strutting in her penguin suit--it wasn't even Halloween.

Anachronism was her nature, the monkey on her shoulder.
I guess I'll leave it up to the Greeks, purveying their paste as
Zeus himself sheds tahini tears of indifferent concern.

Saturday, June 7, 2008

Komik Korner

This is truly a momentous event here at the Korner. It is a rarity to have just one artist of truly kreative potential forging into new and unexplored areas of kreation, but for TWO to surface, and in the course of ONE WEEK -- well, that's the stuff that keeps us going here at KKHQ. We are proud to present to you Lee Watt, a young man whose prodigious manipulation of color, line, and wordplay has enthralled all of us here at the Korner. It gives us great pleasure to publish Part 1 in Watt's animated series, "atomic cowboy."

Sunday, June 1, 2008

Komedy Korner

Time for more Kuest highlights! During our now infamous stay in that flat, rectangular state known as Kansas, we had the rare fortune of adding a new member to the esteemed ranks of the Kreation Krew. Her name is Svetlana Mendoza, and she is a crafter of alternative jokes by trade. Typically, the Korner dismisses "jokes" as cheap, low-brow fodder for feeble-minded dunderheads. With Svetlana, however, we had to make an exception. The true Kreative energy koursing through her multi-layered, unorthodox witticisms had us all in stitches. We're just glad that she happened to wander through our encampment, also in search of kreative inspiration in the Kansasian wilderness. We have here today several of Svetlana's finest gags. We hope your reaction is both jocular and insightful. Consume:

A man with no eyes walks into a bar.
"What can I get you?" asks the barkeep.
"Got a pair of eyes?" asks the man.
"Sorry. We're clean out," says the barkeep.
So the man says, "Well, in that case I'll just have an ear."

A man and a woman are sitting on a park bench.
"What am I thinking about?" says the woman to the man.
"Sports highlights," replies the man.
"How did you know that?!?" asks the woman, stunned.
"I have ESPN," replies the man.

A lawyer, a mercenary, and a doctor all die and arrive at the gates of Heaven.
Saint Peter asks them, "How did each of you spend your lives?"
"I tracked down helpless car crash victims and cheated them out of thousands of dollars," replies the lawyer.
"I was hired by governments all across the world to commit despicable acts of murder," replies the mercenary.
"I illegally wrote myself prescriptions for Vicodin to fuel my ravenous narcotics addiction," replies the doctor.
"I know," says Saint Peter, "I was just trying to make small talk. Welcome to the afterlife."

Friday, May 23, 2008

Kansas Kommentary Korner

The following entry was recovered from Peter Doe's journal, which he kept during his retreat experience at Vision Kuest '08.

About a week ago, I was sitting in my kubicle at the Kreation Korner HQ. Of course, kubicle is somewhat of a subjective term, as it refers to the imaginary box in which I was trapped, and not an actual four-sided work environment. But I digress. As was my custom, I started my day off with a cola-flavored Slurpee and Texas toast. Sitting there, eating the same meal I'd had for the past year or so every morning like clockwork, it struck me how mundane my life had really become. Despite my life's quest, which was to maintain unbridled kreativity at all costs, I was in a rut. I needed change. As if summoned from the heavens, Chris Peebles approached during KKHQ lunch period and asked if I'd like to accompany him and other kreators on a spiritual sojourn of sorts into the remote mountains of Kansas. I nearly jumped at the chance. Here was that break from the ordinary I'd been looking for! I couldn't wait to get on my way, and the following Tuesday, there we were in the majestic Heartland of America. Ecstatic to kickstart my own kreative endeavors with a little help from the great outdoors, I learned something very quickly: camping sucks. I mean, COME ON, why are we even here? There's nothing of value here! How am I expected to entertain myself without at least a well-groomed beach volleyball pit? Where are the well-stocked bathrooms to which I've grown so accustomed in the real world? If nature can't even provide the basic necessity of double-quilted toilet paper, what kind of enlightenment am I intended to experience? As far as I'm concerned, all that nature has to offer is hopelessly eclipsed by what we humans have invented. Name me one activity in nature that can even compare to the thrills one experiences on the Knotts Berry Farm Xcelerator roller-coaster, available for the nominal price of $24.99 for a half-day or $49.99 for a full day. The one consolation in this whole crappy situation, and a reminder of wonderful, air-conditioned home, is that my team leader packed Go-gurts, which I've been hoarding for the past three days. I only hope I make it out of this with an ounce of my kreativity intact. In the meantime, I remain in the company of the worst hostess of all time: Mother Nature.
-Peter Doe

Sunday, May 18, 2008

More Retreat Revelations!

It has been a veritable madhouse within the Kreation Korner HQ these past weeks, as any and all available staff members have been working around the clock to document the nonstop kreative outbursts of those Korner Kontributors returning from what has now been named Vision Kuest '08. Now surely, all of you in the world-wide peanut gallery have been thirsting, yearning even, for all sorts of new kreation. Well, fret not, young kreationists. Now that all kreations have been successfully digitized and logged into the KKDB (Kreation Korner DataBase), we are finally ready to post the unabridged kreations of Vision Kuest '08. Percy Stankowski's post was only a small taste. Buckle your seat belts, folks.

This piece, kreated by Howard Fork, is highly conceptual and will likely be inaccessible to many. However, concentrate on it for a while, and you just might discover the deeper meaning lying within this seemingly arbitrary combination of the various materials that can be found within the hills of Kansas. Here's what the artist had to say:
"At first I was completely lost up there in the mountains. I'd wake up saying to myself, 'Where are my magic markers? My horse-hair paintbrushes? What about my beach ball?' And it was on the third day that I realized, wow, this is really happening. And that's what brought about this kreation. At that point I'd been completely separated from the group and I think subconsciously I was really aching for familiarity. And I think an abstract kernel of that desire can be found in this work, which took about two days to kreate, from concept development to finished product."

Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Percy Speaks!

As promised, the Kreation Korner is proud to present the first of many new entries kreated during and inspired by our sacred sojourn into the wild. But first, a cursory warning: the discoveries we have made will undoubtedly be disturbing to some. Others may not even see the kreations plainly presented in front of them because those very kreations are entirely contradictory to their own safe, stale viewpoints. But for those who can appreciate our revelations, bask in the glory of their inexorable truth. The first entry comes from Percy Stankowski, whose usual dedication to the moving image was shaken through the course of our quest. During his personal turmoil, he decided to use the written word, simple but powerful, to express himself.

Yeah. Give me something to drink.

I had been stuck in this goddamn desert for forty days. Or forty years. It's hard to tell time once the radiation's turned your brain to low-fat cherry Jell-O.

Give me something to drink.

I repeated myself to the grotesque baby-man standing in front of me. His skin reminded me of tapioca pudding. I hate tapioca.

I'm thirsty, give me a fucking drink.

I was getting impatient. Delirium had set in and I was thirsty enough to drink my own piss. Don't think I hadn't tried.

Pepsi OK?

The tapioca man held up a cardboard cup named Pepsi. It said so on the cup.

I want Coke. Fuck off.

The tapioca baby-man died of lupus and I continued on, in search of more lies.

Friday, April 25, 2008

A Triumphant Return...

After nearly a month, we--the Kreation Korner Team--have returned from our vision quest in the uncharted mountains of northern Kansas. For those of you lay and otherwise uninformed readers, a vision quest is a painstaking process of delving deep into one's consciousness to discover untold dimensions of kreative inspiration. Our goal was simple: discover in ourselves the ability to kreate what has never been kreated before. Naturally, we embraced the harsh demands of the vision quest without hesitation. During the quest, we lived a minimal existence with only limited access to such modern conveniences as Big League Chew and oversized novelty Frisbees. Guiding us in our quest were wise (almost to a fault, to be quite frank) shamans-in-training from a nearby alternative arts college. Our days were tumultuous: meditation, sweat-lodge sessions, name games, and yogurt socials (which are like ice cream socials but with half the calories). The sundry hallucinations we encountered were awesome, terrifying, sentimental, and often dull. Yet they succeeded in bestowing true kreative potential on all the kontributors you have come to know and love: Chris Peebles, Charlie Weigman, Hattie Weyland, Marilyn, Davin Krengal, Jawn Steighmeaus, Percy Stankowski, and all the rest. For the next month or so, the Korner will be characterized by an unprecedented explosion of fiercely passionate, devastatingly original kreations from all your favorites. Now that TKK headquarters are back in operation, failing to deliver this material would be a betrayal of our obligations as kreationists. So, with further ado being unnecessary and thusly forgone, sit back and prepare to have every preconceived notion you have ever had about life, living, and existence annihilated by The Kreation Korner.

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Fiction Korner

Esteemed fiction writer Jawn Steighmeaus returns this week with a chilling, metaphor-soaked account of the harsh realities of post-modern life. As the reader, you might be taken aback by some of the crude-seeming language Jawn employs. But are his words really what is crude or is it in fact you who is indeed crude? At The Kreation Korner, we believe the latter. Imbibe:

That was the day. The day my balls dropped. My soccer ball and football both. Dropped right into a deep, dark pit they did. My puck fell in too, but it's not a ball so much.
"What about the games, Charlie? The games?" Heathcliff asked, tears welling in his fluorescent space-orb eyes.
"There won't be no more games, old friend," I responded, holding back some optical moisture myself. "The days of hockey and champagne are over."
Life on the farm was never the same after that. Heathcliff got a job as a successful butler, and I got back my old position at the sweater plant. Everyday I trudge through the cable knit jungle knowing those balls are still out there festering under Father Time's gnarled thumb only to be discovered someday by an unsuspecting archeologist or possibly an oil prospector.

Thursday, March 27, 2008

A Grand Mistake

A little over two weeks after the Korner birthed what should have been a healthy baby boy of a new feature, we at the KKHQ have realized our folly. Since the inception of "Is This Anything?", how many replies have we received? Zero. That's how many. Unless you count spam as an intelligent discussion of a poem-in-question's validity, which I surely do not. We here at the Korner are incredibly disappointed in the undoubted multitudes which gaze upon our Kreation Korner each and every day with rapt anticipation. We thought you little people had something to say! Apparently we thought wrong. In our infinite optimism and search for truth, we at the Korner have discerned from this sorry mess that maybe we simply are more special than most. We try to remain fair and believe that all have it within them to kreate, but perhaps it's simply an endeavor meant for the chosen few. This is not meant to discourage, but if you people don't have the kajones to step over that proverbial line and say, "I am human! Hear me roar!", there is not much to be done. In the end, our resolve to blow mind, body, and soul has been strengthened by the affair, and we now kommit ourselves anew to liberation of the human nation through positive kreation. I leave you with a poem that I think is entirely relevant to this post:

clank clank clank
robotic movements
(not human)
we are motorized
slaves to the system
clank clank
CLANK
go these automated appendages
cogs in the machine is
all we
ARE
revolutionrevolutionrevolution
(necessity)

-$$$sex$$$you$$$up$$$

Saturday, March 15, 2008

Poet's Korner

Look at you with your
brown skin
I wish I could get
skin like that.
Every time I step
Into the sun
It's the same shit.

BURN-PEEL-WHITE
BURN-PEEL-WHITE
BURN-PEEL-WHITE.

-Jacqeau

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Is This Anything?

It is with great pleasure on this glorious Sunday that we introduce a new segment to the Korner. Despite our best efforts, it seems there has been a growing rift between performer and spectator within the Korner realm. With a healthy fear of kreative proletariat uprising in mind, we at the Korner HQ have devised a plan to put you, the faithful reader, in the proverbial driver's seat of the sensible economy automobile that is the Kreation Korner. We have here a statement of unknown origin. It is up to you, our fanbase, to give us your opinion of it. Is it a poem? A story? A window into the human soul? A MySpace bulletin? Just remember, there's no such thing as a wrong answer. Have at it!

Is the cat still stuck in the tree?

What do you think we should do if it's still there?




It's been up there since Monday.

Monday, March 3, 2008

Poet's Korner

Why zebras? This isn't even
their kind of climate.
What are the chances that they
would pick here? I don't get it.
How do they get their kicks?
Maybe I'll take one out for
coffee and find out what's so
special about these zebras.

--C.H.R.I.S. P.E.E.B.L.E.S.

Saturday, March 1, 2008

Kommentary Korner

Usually, I use my column as a platform to air my frustrations with these United States of America and all their shortcomings. Lately, though, I have been focused on a place that, as it turns out, is not in America at all. I am speaking, of course, of Switzerland—that mysterious, landlocked European nation that has confounded scholars for years. Despite numerous warnings from family and friends, I began studying Swiss cultural exports several weeks ago. During my quest to unlock the truth about these elusive mountain people (the Swiss), I stumbled across some insights that proved both baffling and mildly interesting. Particularly helpful in my research was the Swiss Army Knife. (Why would a neutral country need an army you might ask? That, my friend, is something we will never know). Each unique tool attached to your standard issue S.A.K. sheds light on a particular custom or tendency of the Swissfolk. Par exemple, the small, plastic, durable toothpick included in every S.A.K. indicates that the Swiss are dedicated to impeccable dental health, even on the go. The portable convenience of this reusable, sanitary tooth-cleaning device is mirrored in the ever-handy mini Swiss tweezers. If ever a Swiss individual spots an errant eyebrow hair outside of the home, these tweezers will be used to extricate it in the clutch. Furthermore, we can only imagine the flawlessly elegant parabolas of a Swissperson’s Swiss-Army-Knife-nail-file-sculpted fingernails. So far, we can see that the Swiss are a people committed to proper personal hygiene, but our analysis of the Swiss Army Knife goes much further. Take the ity-bity Swiss Army scissors, for instance: the Swiss are a patient people. It probably takes a person 15 to 20 minutes to successfully cut through a piece of paper or fabric with these worthless scissors; a feat achieved in mere seconds by a typical pair of shears. Not only are the Swiss patient, they are benevolent and caring. This characteristic is made unquestionably clear with a look at the blade on the Swiss Army tool. This tiny knife, when used for self-defense, will only minimally maim an assailant. Through this unexpected, eye-opening process, the Swiss allow their attackers to reconsider their initial intentions of harm and even reform their ways. After such Swiss-Army-Knife-induced educational experiences, Swisspeople will typically invite their would-be assaulters to join them for fondue. We can see through an analysis of the Swiss Army Knife that the Swiss are dedicated to unrivaled personal hygiene, meticulous work ethics, and instant rehabilitation of local ne’er-do-wells. My conclusion is that the Swiss are a dynamic, sexy people whom the rest of the world should look up to as a model society. --Peter Doe

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Peebles Proclaims!

Today, we bring you another momentous entry from one of our most faithful kontributors, Chris Peebles. About a week ago, one of our field reporters, Gabe Gabriel, happened upon an irate and frustrated Peebles in the middle of what appeared to be a schoolyard. Upon further inspection and after questioning the crowd that had gathered to behold Chris' science, Gabe discovered that Peebles had been performing poetry, interpretive dance, and various gymnastic maneuvers for the better part of two days. Said one transfixed observer, "For him, it's not about us. It's about Chris trying to be Chris in this wiggly world." Luckily for you and I, Gabe had a videocamera ready and "about enough sense to press 'record.'" Godspeed, Chris Peebles. Godspeed.

video

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Poet's Korner

Today we introduce to our ranks a learned woman whose nom de plume reads simply "GRECH", a reference to the artist's first name. While GRECH's poetry echoes the sentiments of such Transcendental greats as Thoreau and Emerson, both her pseudonym and chosen medium draw inspiration instead from the streetwise art movement known as graffiti, or "tagging." Her works can be found adorning the various highways of America, applied directly to the roads. The striking contrast between GRECH's words and their manmade and impermanent context really does make one think. This latest piece was discovered on I-76 just outside Akron, OH, and is one of her strongest so far.

Sitting upon the grass
I feel not the least bit crass,
For I am within the eyes
Of the greater ruler of the wise.
When I am basking in the glory
Of such perfect territory
I feel as if I can meld
With the world which he held.
Sitting upon the ground
I feel so part of the mound,
My livelihood is complete
And nothing I cannot defeat.


*Professional artist's rendition

Monday, January 28, 2008

Today's poem comes from the enigmatic Tum Cruz, a man, woman, or entity of unknown origin. This poem is, for all intents and purposes, untraceable. Awaiting on the Kreation Korner HeadKwarter's doorstep this morning was a floppy disk smeared with what appeared to be rice pudding. Through a day's worth of efforts from our experts, a poem was extricated and examined for Kreative authenticity. And folks, we're happy to announce this is the genuine article. It's got it all: profound and complex societal quandaries, irregular structure, and a no-holds-barred confrontation of tradition.

wh a t
is t h emeaning of THIS li
fe?

i 'll tell
YOU

b utfirst
gi ve me a DOLLAR

Friday, January 18, 2008

Meet the Kontributors

Chris Peebles


Chris Peebles was born to Canadian immigrants Chris Sr. and Martha Peebles at Our Lady of the Cacti Regional Medical Center in Cityville, New Mexico on March 16, 1981. For much of his early life, the sensitive Peebles was ostracized by his peers. In 1991, a sandstorm consumed Cityville, completely wiping it off the map. Luckily, by this point in time, Peebles had settled in the burgeoning cultural hub of Boise, Idaho with his parents who had started an edible shoe business there. Although long removed physically from Cityville, Peebles credits the town’s unfortunate destruction as one of his earliest inspirations for becoming a wandering street poet. “It’s just the fact that…a whole town…jeez…wow,” Peebles said of the incident. Another pivotal determining factor for Peebles’ ultimate career came in 1994 with the divorce of his parents following the disappointingly low market for edible shoes. The family plunged into financial ruin, and Peebles found little solace at home and school. He, instead, took his frustrations to the street, channeling his angst the only way he knew how. By about 1997, Peebles had gained local fame for his raw, unbridled brand of street poetry. He would often appear, unexpectedly, in public cafes, grocery stores, and health clinics and immediately launch into spontaneous fits of unprecedented poetic verse. “Peebles was on his own orbit. The words that exploded out of his mouth were shocking, awe-inspiring. We’re lucky to have him in our midst,” said fiction writer Jawn Steighmeaus, a bystander at Peebles’ notorious “Airport Parking Garage Rant ’99.” Today, Chris Peebles is an established member of the Boise artistic elite and even has some regional fame in other parts of the Pacific Northwest. In 2005, Peebles began supplementing his successful street poetry career with a part-time job at Buenos Dias Productions as a documentary host. Peebles’ silver-tongued articulateness made him a shoe-in for the position. During the summer of 2007, Peebles began submitting material to The Kreation Korner free of charge, contributing to the site’s early success. Peebles is happy with where he has made it in life and plans to continue his endeavors with vigor and gusto. Here at The Korner, we are truly humbled to have one of our generation’s greatest talents on our team.
Memorable posts: Confrontation with a Barber, Just My Luck, Sand

Peter Doe
The illustrious and storied life of Peter Doe begins way back in 1960, somewhere on Route 66 near Kingman, Arizona. Ever since Doe tumbled kicking and screaming from the birth conduit onto the previously immaculate naugahyde back seat of a stolen ’58 Chevy Impala, he’s lived a life on the road—save for a short spell on a domesticated wildebeest ranch. Until the age of seven, Doe lived in the car of his birth (which came to be referred to affectionately as “Vlad the Impala”) tagging along with his parents Roy and Cookie on occaisional bank jobs across the American Southwest. During this formative period of his life, Doe was exposed to the innate skullduggery and barbarianism of man captured so vociferously in his writings today. Life as a child surrounded by petty crime and inept (though well-intentioned) wildebeest husbandry proved tumultuous for the young Doe. Matters were not made easier as Peter was forced to help raise ten younger siblings thanks to his parents’ Chamberlain-like fecundity. Though Doe does not like to talk about these tough years much, he does admit that listening to rabble-rouser K. Hume O’Henderbaum’s pirate radio station was his only solace, albeit lo-fi. In spite of his rough up-bringing, Doe’s thirst for the road was never quenched. It was this spirit of a restless traveler that led him to Vietnam at the age of 19. Although the war had been over for a number of years, Peter was still rattled to his core by a shouting match with a cab driver over misleading fare signage. He is still haunted to this day by the sounds of car horns and rattling mufflers every time he gazes as if hypnotized at a ceiling fan. After his exploits in Southeast Asia, Doe found himself stateside—grizzled, mumbling, bearded, stringy-haired and emitting a pungent, urine-like odor. This was a low point in Peter’s life, his only company being a 1975 Buick LeSabre named Judith. Fortunately, everything changed one day when Doe was in his vehicle behind a 7-Eleven waiting for the old Slurpees to be thrown out. As he listened to an actor-cum-presidential candidate very reminiscent of his idol O’Henderbaum on the radio, he looked at himself in the rear-view mirror. From the small rectangle staring back at him, Peter realized what he’d become: the very scum he’d learned to despise. Vowing never again to be a drain on society, Doe resolved to serve his country through military service. Calling the U.S. Armed Forces “a bunch of pussies,” Peter opted instead to join a paramilitary organization called the Love Children of Justice. Through most of the eighties, Doe and his brothers in arms stamped out perpetrators of acts they perceived as destructive to the moral fabric of America. In 1989, Doe and several other LCJ captains were convicted as vigilantes with numerous charges of assault, arson and public urination. Although feeling betrayed by the country he’d strove so valiantly to protect, Peter took his sentence like a man and served ten years before being released on irritating behavior. During his time in the slammer, Doe hit the books, becoming fluent in Russian and earning his veterinary degree. As a free man, Peter relocated to Boise, ID—then a mecca for Russian-speaking ex-con animal care professionals. There, Doe managed to keep his nose clean save for a short stint behind bars for hustling croquet at Dinnis Baysmund Memorial Park. Forgoing the proper lodging Boise had to offer in favor of his LeSabre, Peter literally lived on the road, keeping his wanderlust beak from becoming over-whetted. It was during this time that Doe began channeling his incarceration-fueled animosity towards all things American into a handwritten, fortnightly opinion pamphlet distributed throughout the capital. In 2007, when The Korner was a mere startup, we took notice of Mr. Doe and extended him an invitation to write for us. He obliged, but with the cryptic condition “only if we let him do it his way.” Our relationship with Peter has not always been rosy, but we would not have it any other way. His frank, tell-it-how-it-is style keeps us honest and frequently shatters the status quo with revolutionary new perspectives. Peter Doe is a true asset to The Kreation Kause. You might say he’s the poison tip on our fast-moving mind-dart.
Memorable posts: Bowling Alleys, The Swiss, 2008

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Fiction Korner

This week, The Kreation Korner brings you a promising fiction writer named Jawn Steighmeaus. Steighmeaus' stories are short--usually no more than 100 words--and are often typed impromptu during half-conscious self-induced hypnotic trances. The following sample--entitled "Untitled?"--captures the essence of Steighmeaus' unbridled spontaneity and tells a whole hell of a lot with very little. Heed:

Waking up. Rolling out of bed. Got to go to work. I eat a modest breakfast of leftover pizza and bread. Then I hit the street. The buffet where I bus tables isn't far: just up the General Westmoreland Boulevard past the Tsar Mart. I reach the front door 80 seconds late.
"You're late," says Rhonda, my boss. She's third generation Czech-Chinese and rarely smiles.
"What's the special, Rhonda?" I scream.
"Salisbury shrimp," she replies, vomiting on the floor. I don't panic. I straighten my ten-gallon hat and stare at the vomit, which has begun to form the shape of a face. A beautiful face. A face I have only seen four times before.

Friday, January 11, 2008

Fork Korners

Howard Fork speaks with his painting. Not literally, of course, as that would render daily interaction nearly impossible. Nitpicking aside, however, Fork is a unique individual with an eye for vivid statement through simple manipulations of already-existing media. His 1998 series, entitled "Feces on Famous Faces" was a tasteful exercise in the subtle subversion of cultural icons and continues to generate controversy to this day. Fork's latest series, "Freaks", represents an evolution in the artist's thinking toward his subject matter. Three pieces representative of this series are featured below with commentary from the artist himself.


"This image, ahh, juxtaposes the quintessential American hero with his statement of 'Freak!' as if to say, we're all in this (freakiness) together."


"I especially enjoy this piece because not only have I taken a broad American archetype and exploited it for my own means, but the body is in fact that of Paris Hilton's. But no one recognizes her with a giant foot on her head! Sort of an inside joke for myself, I guess."


"Do my pieces say more with or without embellishment? You be the judge. Plus, I mean, Stephen Baldwin doesn't need much embellishment, does he?"

Monday, January 7, 2008

A Kall to Arms

Greetings comrades. As those of you familiar with the Gregorian Calendar are aware, the year 2008 is merely a week old. Rather than pursuing a trite New Year's resolution for the next twelve months, The Kreation Korner will be engaging in something far more daring: a New Year's revolution. The time has come for rising up against the soul-crushing establishment dominated by blood-sucking CEOs. Our movement, however, is not a militant one. We feel that a violent uprising would be without fruit. What we are advocating is a revolution of ideas. Only with mental harpoons can we eliminate the great orca of ignorance and woe. So there you have it, kreationists. Your support this year is crucial. Only with your continuing enthusiasm can our kontributors continue to fight the good fight with words, images, and video. In conclusion, we urge you to help the Kause. Our future as a species hangs in the balance.

Thanks a Bunch,

The Kreation Krew