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

i 'll tell

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