Komedy Korner

Individual 1: "Did you get a hair cut?"
Individual 2: "Yep. All of 'em, actually."

--Svetlana Mendoza

Fiction Korner

"Sunnyside Stories"

I 

The office was poorly lit. That’s not to say it wasn’t illuminated. One might say there was too much light. Harsh, fluorescent light. Light that reflected off the filmy surfaces of the matching desk and credenza.
The furniture wasn’t new. Probably from the middle twentieth century. It had a certain funk from years of neglect. Plus it was cheap and probably not all wood. There was only one window. It was not a perfect square, but it was darn close. It definitely wasn’t a golden rectangle. It didn’t please the eye. Something about it caused discomfort for those types who pay attention to that kind of thing. The venetian blinds could’ve cast an ominous shadow, but they were up. Also the lights were still on and it was dusk.
But none of these decorative deficiencies much bothered Spenser. His office was how he found it when he arrived in Sunnyside three weeks before. He could get work done anywhere. His inauspicious upbringing taught him that. Also, the War. He didn’t need to fuss over the placement of one of those green lamps or select the perfect resting angle for that executive double pen set. Maybe one’s actually a mechanical pencil—but, again, Spenser didn’t burn too many calories on matters of that sort.
The consultant possessed the singular ability to get the job done no matter the immediate environment. Even if that meant dealing with Chad three times a week...
--Jawn Steighmeaus

Musiks Korner

Gabe Gabriel here, resident loop-digger, scholar of obscure noise, and all-around chronicler of all things Kreation. Now, in the past, I've come to you on bended knee to humbly offer the multitude of curios and crazy shit (pardon the technicalities) which have amassed at the margins of the kreative continuum. Mining the shores of Kreation Creek is no mean feat, and many are the days when I have trudged home, empty-handed, galoshes squishy with the discomfort of revelation just beyond my grasp. Yet, when among the crushed aluminum malt-liquor vessels and other detritus, I happen upon a discovery such as I am pleased to present today, the apparent emptiness of sog-sap days seems mere prelude to the inevitable joy of kreative discovery.

Ronald Raygun has been, until now, a sometimes-contributor with a cagey personality who eschews direct interaction in favor of contribution via mail. Yet, in this discovery, we parse out a vital component of his personal history, as we find the young man releasing a single for the short-lived but influential record imprint, Kreative Destruction Records (in-depth profile to come soon). Equal parts angst and erudition, "Beside Myself" is a tale of a boy, a girl, and a boy again. Take it in the brain:

Poet's Korner

"The Livable Urban Neighborhood" by Chris Peebles

live, work, play
learn, shop, pray
walk, talk, sit
read, sip, watch
smile, laugh

think, wonder, touch, wince
release, scratch, stoop
shrug, forget, jog
bathe, sigh, stare

wander, ponder, yawn
sleep, writhe, wake, tremble
shake, sweat, clench, trip, thud
scream, punch, break, disturb, alienate

hide, regret
deviate, contemplate
murmur

stammer, stumble, encounter
reorient, gravitate
perceive, deceive, cringe
surrender, wither, cry
eat, shit
die

Korner Wisdom

Be.

Displacement Korner

One month without a new post--easily the longest dry-spell in Kreation Korner history. But we are well justified in this deficiency. We're not a bunch of shiftless assholes. As you know, our rogue, sentient computer--which has dubbed itself APEKS--does what it wants, when it wants. Early in April, APEKS decided to patch into our environmental systems and flood both the HQ and Kommune with a lethal mixture of nitrous oxide and generic windex. Our best guess is that the cold logic of the machine's malevolent circuits deemed us imperfect biological entities who served only as obstructions to the advancement of pure kreativity. Luckily, we managed to escape with our lives--although Tum Cruz was legally dead for nearly three minutes and came to with a hitherto unknown talent for chainsaw sculptures. During the past several weeks, we endeavored to make our voice heard in the blogosphere, but the WiFi at Tsarbucks is wack, if you'll pardon the techno-babble. Additionally, the psychological trauma of being expelled from one's own korner often proved incapacitating. But now the toxic atmospheres have dispersed, and it's time to reclaim our lost month in the name of Kreation. APEKS seems dormant for now, but we'll sleep with both eyes open from now on just in case.

Komedy Korner

Our historian/archivist/documentarian/kwartermaster/everyman Gabe Gabriel recently returned from an estate auction in upstate New York, carrying in tow the personal papers of the late Budd Bellows.  Prior to overdosing on speed balls in a hotel bathtub last month, Mr. Bellows was a relatively well-known comic on the college circuit. By all accounts, his material was little more than ham-handed low-hanging fruit. But if the sheaf of documents Gabe acquired for a small fortune is any indication, Budd was on track to broach a major kreative breakthrough, peripheral as his efforts were to our franchise. It's a tragedy that such a nascent master was cut down so suddenly. Imagine the heights to which he could have soared.  Anyhow, we found the following witticism scrawled on the back of an envelope among Bellow's vestiges. It may very well be the prototype of a form of humor the world will never be fully privy to. Scoff:

Set-up: I live my life in two worlds: the world I experience when I'm awake and the world of my dreams. One of these worlds is characterized by unending toil. It is an odyssey without end. The destination is in sight yet remains eternally elusive. A path unfolds before me, but it is circuitous and full of diversion. I get side-tracked and drawn into outlandish subplots. I observe people I haven't seen or thought about for years engaging in strange acts in strange places. Places I've never been. Places nobody's ever been and likely do not exist. In this world, geography lacks a discernible logic. Disparate locales are contiguous. Day transitions into night in an instant. Years fly by in what seems like minutes. In this world I become mired in such mystifying flights of fancy that I lose sight of the destination all together and never quite arrive no matter how close I unwittingly get.

Punchline: You think that's crazy? Wait until I tell you about the world of my dreams!