"Video Korner"

Salutations. My name is Napier St. Anselm. I am not nor have ever been a "Kreationist" or an adherent to the "Kreationism" movement. In fact, I have had no prior association of any kind with "The Kreation Korner." But for reasons that are far too grave and terrifying to disclose to the garden variety blog consumer, I felt it incumbent on myself to infiltrate this web interface in order to disseminate a videographical warning of vast import. I assure you, I take this action with the purest and best-intentioned of motives. This will be my only incursion into "The Korner." In fact, before any one of you reads this, I will have already undergone an experimental procedure to expunge all memory of this strange incident. Although there's a good chance I'll come out of it more asparagus than human, it's a risk I'm willing to take to deliver this critical admonition. Do not take lightly:

Kommencement Korner

One from the vaults:

"Graduation Speech, #GS001406"
Today we celebrate. We're the inaugural graduates of a new program. The trail blazers, if you will. We're the vanguard up the beach at Iwo. Many of us won't make it. But as subsequent waves of our siblings in arms tread through our remains, our viscera caking to their standard issues, we can take solace knowing they'll one day stake Old Glory at the summit of Suribachi thanks to our initial sacrifice. Picture, if you will, a home sausage extruder. We're those first irregular links squeezed through the nozzle. Some of us are packed unevenly and improperly tied off. Others of us have split casings or have fallen unceremoniously to the garage floor, only to be devoured by Fido. None of us have yet achieved the ideal ratio of ground pork shoulder to fennel seed. But in time, practice and tenacity will yield an efficient, streamlined technique. In the not too distant future, this program will produce a steady, uniform stream of tumescent crescents of customer service acumen. So let us take up our anti-grav units--our kiosks await! In conclusion, there's a blue 2027 Ford Explorer with its headlights on in the auxiliary lot. Thank you.

Korner Wisdom

Don’t eat a chunk of Chick-O-Stick and bend over, it will go into your nose and you will sneeze for several hours.

When pouring cumin into beans and rice, note that it smells like B.O.

One day you may reach into a pocket and find a PIN and have no idea where it came from, when was the last time you wore shorts, or what said PIN belongs to.

Haute Kouture Korner

Greetings, Kornies! Hadley Daughterson here, and I'm writing today to tell yinz of a spectacular experience I had the other day at BTS (Boise Towne Square mall). I use "spectacular" to mean "of or resembling a spectacle" as furnished by thefreedictionary.com. I observed a preponderance of shop windows prominently displaying apparel emblazoned with what can only be described as commodified street art. As I gazed upon mannequin after mannequin adorned with wryly sardonic send-ups of older-sibling propaganda, it okkurred to me that the ultimate kommentary on coercive authoritarian power structures is to participate in the uniformity they foist upon mall-goers the world over. Seeing these products rekindled in me the antiestablishment zeal I felt in my salad days as a guerilla posterhanger in Latrobe. In light of this nostalgia, I have elected to throw my headwear into the kommercial ring. Rather than the distressed surfaces of urban America, the distressed fashion tee will be my kanvas. For my first prototype, I dug up one of my old designs from the late 80s and dusted off the screen printer. Chris Peebles agreed to model the inaugural garment, but only under the kondition I obskure his face in any publicity stills:

[Cowboy] Poet's Korner

"I never thought I'd be implicated in a melancholy closing of the west"

I see 'em, from Main Street,
in their fancy saloon
laughing, throwing
back their heads
and the latest
mixology compliments
of the new barman
in from Saint Lewis

It's their scene and
they revel with un-
hindered certainty
draped in spun
fruits from the Flowery
Kingdom

Things had been
going downhill ever
since Doc Traebis
hung up his bone saw and
belt beguiled
by the glamour of the
haberdashery game
the mud accumulated
on my boot heels

Tante tugs
my duster, she's fixin'
to come by dry
goods by nightfall
I could've sworn the
painted writhing
bacchanals sneered
at her but one
day too their spines
will curl like armadillos and
their eyes will cloud over
like the disinterested sky

The saloon was a
compartment insulated
from space-time or
whatever those college
boys back east posit
Me, I like to think
of it as a
mis-called pocket in
the cosmic billiards
The almighty is
an unseen hustler

We make for
the mercantile and
I pity them in a way
their interactions devoid
of a larger context
I'll take
my chances with Tante
and forge my own
narrative in a sod
house straddling
the urban-rural interface.

--Steed Stetson

Holiday Korner

Lots of the time, I'd say, mmmmm, once an hour, it's 4:20 somewhere. Like somewhere in the world. Because of time changes? Yeah, time changes, you know. Time is weird, you know? But uhhhh fuck, you wanna pack a bowl?

Ekonomy Korner

Buy sheep, sell deer.

(Disclaimer: KREATION KORNER assumes no responsibility for any consequence relating directly or indirectly to any action or inaction you take based on the information, services or other material on this site. This stock tip was overheard spoken by a human man in a suit, April 15, 2013, at Boise Greyhound Station, 1212 W. Bannock St., Boise, ID 83702.)