Thanks, Darlings

THE LAST POST ON “KUCHED” DROPS NOW

It’s Virtual Packing Day Over Here At The Grotto …

I’m Unplugging This Weekend And Moving Out Of This Space On WordPress.

I’m Paid Up Until December 30, But Bolting The Hell Out Early – It’s Like That – And This:

So, Here Goes Nada, Nyet, Nein …

HOUSEKEEPING

You Can Find Me Below … If You Need A Laugh – Leftover Love (I’ll Share) – Or Nothing At All But Don’t Know Where To Go To Find Nothing At All

gdpten@gmail.com – or – 6411095225 (email me to de-scramble the digits)

I’m On A Couple Facebook Spots, But I Almost Never Go There.

No Instagram Or Twitter Or Whatever The Other One Is Called.

WHAT’S NEXT?

I’ll Always Write Like Shit Because It’s What I’ve Always Done … A Bad Habit I Can’t Seem To Kick …

I’ll Never Under Share Even When I’m Puking Up My Guts, Showing My Nuts, Climbing Out Of The Ruts.

Tomorrow. The Day After.

Not Sure About Wednesday.

IF ANYONE EVER ASKS …

I Quit – WordPress Didn’t Dump Me – Because I’ve Had Enough Of Me Doing Me. Really, There’s A Limit To Nonsense.

And There’s This: 406 Posts … 700+ Followers … Writing 175,000 Words Too Many.

Read (Or Ignored) At Least Once In 114 Countries – 42,000 Views By 14,000 Visitors – With Not Much Better To Do … That’s Kinda Cool, I Say Thank You, All.

“What’s Wrong With You People?”

ONE BURNT OUT BLOGGER

I’m Abandoning …

59 Drafts.

I Don’t Feel Guilty About.

And 9 Really Good Ideas On: How To Get Rich Fast, How To Lose Weight By Eating Lots Of Crap, And How To Make Friends By Buying Their Affection …

JUST A FEW BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE I ADMIRE ON WP

Inspired. Befriended. Cherished.

Along The Way:

A

C

J

N

K

S

But, Wait, There’s More – I’ll Miss All Y’Alleses A Bunch Here – We’re Not Strangers. I Promise I Won’t Make This Weirder Than It Already Is I Am …

Ciao For Now, Meow Meow.

AND THIS FUN FACT CONFESSION

A Friendly Reminder (To Me) To Pull Off The Blinder On Self …

To Go Look For My Mind Wherever The Fuck I Left It (I Know It’s In Here Somewhere Because It Hasn’t Shut Up) – And, Mostly – Listen To My Heart Speak The Truth For Once:

“As I Take Love With Gluttonous Immunity And Deflection Of Feelings By Another … I Accept Responsibility … To Share My Love Without Restraint And An Oath To Death That Its Not Mine To Keep Hidden Or Buried … End The Blessed Shame I Bear No More, My Truth Is Free, Little Bird…”

Immediately – Don’t Wait, Schmuck Face – It’s About All I’ve Ever Learned In Life. I Wish That Lesson Would Stick To My Heart.

Photo by Slick from Kookaburra Me

I Was Wrong About Love 3.0

IT WASN’T MY FRIEND

Not This Time … Same As The Last Time …

It Came Easy – As It Should – Though I Didn’t See It For What It Was (Beautiful) And Fought It Every Slip Of The Way.

This Mess Is On Me … All Over My Face … In The Sheets … Right There.

“I’ll Be Fine, Really … Yeah, It Hurts … I Needed Another Fucking Heartbreak.”

Ice Cream & Waffles

THERE SHE WAS …

Love Needs Love Is What I Said To Myself When I Should’ve Told Her:

“I Love You …”

But, I Didn’t – Scaredy-Cat … Chicken-Shit … Little Twit … Fuckheaded Dimwit … Knucklehead Nitwit … Gone-Gone, Baby – At That Very Moment Where Life Taps You In The Nuts To Man-The-Fuck-Up And Get-The-Three-Words-The-Fuck-Out …

“Happy Now?”

No, No.

“Is What She Said …”

Image by iSAW Company from Pixabay 

Love Gone, Baby

IT HURTS THE WAY LOVE SHOULD

Here Goes … A Quiet Scream …

I Can’t Do This Anymore – My Mind Says So, That’s Who – My Heart Beat Me To It This Time … You Go Heart!

“None Of It … Soul Rat Me Out, You Fink Bastard, You Always Tell The Truth … Your Version, Anyway.”

A Blank Screen Yelling At Me? Me Staring Back. Sleeping With My Back To The Page … Irreconcilable Or Just Differences?

CRAZY SWEET TENDER

Bat Shit Style – Guano, Guano, Guano – Trying Singing It To Quando, Quando, Quando Like Sir Humperdinck Did, Or Not, Really Don’t …

All Good With It – The Bloody Indecision Is Over – Except Acceptance: Its Gone.

The Will. The Desire. In Me …

No, No, No.

THE LAST DAY OF NOVEMBER

Kuched Is Closing Up … Expiring On WordPress

I Hope For Good. I Hate Waking The Undead.

Going Out. Bangless. Bang-Starved. No More Banging The Drum.

“Something Better Around The Bend?”

WHYN’T?

Its A Heartbreaking Little Piece About No Peace In The Broken Heart Lost By The Promise Of Words Gone, Baby …

For Weeks I’ve Tried Writing Another Bit About Fighting Hunger … Because It Matters To Me And I Failed At Compassion, Which Never Happens. And, I Couldn’t Or Wouldn’t And Didn’t. Find My Voice To Speak My Passion.

” … n’t And Me … We’ll Never Be Friends.”

I’m Shooting Blanks And Even Then I’m Missing The Target, Which Doesn’t Make Any Damned Sense – See What I Mean? – Nothing’s Coming Out. It’s All Stuck Inside Where None Of It Means A Thing. Damned, Alright.

C’MON BACK WHEN YOU’VE GOT SOMETHING TO SAY

Meh-Be.

Empty – Is – All. All I Get, When I Get Nothing. But Wax Sans Poetic.

Blank Isn’t Enough To Sustain Me. Dreams Of What?

I’m Hungry. Lost My Appetite.

When I Hiccupped And Love Came To Town. I Blinked … Gone, Gone, Baby.

ONE LAST CHA-CHA …

… For The Road. Remember Back When? When We Skipped The Light Fandango?

A Few More Dripples Of Drivel. Cryptic Cranial Cavity, I Need To Feed You.

We’ve Got Some Time Left. Together. This Is One Long Good Bye / Riddance.

Let’s Laugh While It Lasts.

Chapter 3 – I Wouldn’t Call It Love …

An excerpt from ‘Kookaburra Me’ – Copyright © 2020 by Michael A. Kuch

WHEN

A grown man sexually assaults a small boy, feeds on his soul, and leaves him to wither in shame and disgrace …”  

I will not say his name. 

Vampires aren’t worthy to hear my voice.  How it breaks in silent screams during endless Night Terrors.  Out-of-body premonitions haunt me.  The horror of falling – breaking the axis of levitation – pursued, hunted, eaten.  My mind blanking, shattering, erasing … stuttering to find solace, losing grasp, never coming home because home never existed. 

Where is my peace when my heart is stilled?  When a breathless exhale asphyxiates my larynx into submission?  I’m mute when I dream.  The apparition frozen in the mirror when I awake looks a lot like me. 

THE VAMPIRE

knrFa. Frank. 

I typed every letter with my head down.  It’s not writer’s block that makes me stop.  Tears can’t stop me.

“I can’t have his name near mine.  Frank is a predator of children.  Carnivorous Pedophile.  He ate my childhood … A good portion of my adulthood … A chunk of my manhood … This is what’s left of what never was.”

I’ve hated him as I should.  Quietly in my space. Perhaps, you’ve noticed.

I WANT TO HATE HIM FOREVER

Because hate should placate my pain …

I can’t justify hate or pain.  Not anymore. I won’t tolerate my silence another moment.

It’s no coincidence that the Beast and I are related.  It was a matter of convenience for him.  Being hand fed to Frank – an adult first cousin, my mother’s nephew, son of her oldest late brother.

“Frank is a sick cunt.  The profane descriptive fits.  I’ll wash my mouth with soap once I cleanse my Soul with Love. I’m entitled. Let me play the victim just this once. No apology. My Adolph.  My Idi.  My Vlad.  Demon Seed.”

INSTITUTIONALIZED, ADMITTED, COMMITTED?

In a mental health facility long ago …

He did unspeakable things to other people.

Like scald a woman with boiling water. 

I’m not alone, not the only child to be violated by the Butcher of Bronte.

FRANK IS DEAD TO ME

It’s better this way – for both of us – him mostly. 

Frank’s heart was dead when he took mine; left in a room with him while the adults drank and laughed and talked in the kitchen and backyard. 

About what, mom? 

“What Frank might do if left alone with a small boy … his scrawny little cousin?  It wasn’t his first lemonade stand …”

WHAT FRANK DID

Was force his Evil Will upon me – inhale me – withered My Innocent Being.  

Usurped my childhood and replenished the void it left with fear.  

Unspeakable? 

So, we never spoke about it.  Mom did though.  She told people in disgust.  Gossipy.  Not the right people. 

WHERE WAS …

The Catholic Church?  The Pious Men in Black with the white clerical collars?  Good one, right.  Let the Hyenas hunt.  The Holy Hypocrites had conspired once before in perpetrating a lie I believed, albeit on mom’s oath, with a forged Baptism certificate. 

Police?  Doctor?  Child shrink?  Therapist?  Children’s Aid Society?  My relatives?  My older brothers? 

“My God, My God, My God …”

Where was my father on the only day I needed the asshole to strangle a wicked man to within a breath of his life for violating his child?  Answer me, sir … 

I’M LEFT TO FIGURE IT OUT

I’ve figured it out – this can’t be right – it shouldn’t have happened, but it did … 

I’ve asked God … Why Father?  The short answer never made sense.  The long answer is not mine.    

I can’t write this.  I don’t want to write any of this.  I must write this.

Fifty years isn’t long enough.  This is the last false start.  I’m making it to the end this time – God, please listen – let me know if I get it right. 

NOW, I’M TALKING TO YOU, FRANK …

Hear me, diablo cugino.  My voice is in your head.  Stop the crazy for a moment and listen. 

“Do you remember me?”

You had me.  Tasted me.  Tried me out.  Subjected me to your vile, immoral carnal pleasures.  Please don’t forget.  Please try hard.  Please remember me.  Never forget the little boy.  The shame.  The filth.  The decay.  The perversion. My flesh peeled back.  The stench of my innocence on your filthy breath …

“Don’t you fucking forget me … don’t you dare die before you repent, Frank.”

PEACE IS WHAT I’M ASKING FOR

You owe me something you can never repay

No do-overs or giving back on this one. 

This is all you get – a thousand words and the last of my tears and none of my heart and no more of my fear – I owe you this after you sucked out My Soul. 

It wasn’t yours to take. 

YOU

Tattooed fear and weakness and anger …

Stunted me emotionally for a good bit.  

“Made me afraid of the dark, afraid of men – unworthy of the few good women I’ve cared about because I was incapable to relate to love, to identify love, to know love, to accept love, to be love …”

Fear of what I might become.  What I have become.  What I am not.  Not isn’t good.

YOU, YOU

Ruined me – then – for every day to come …

“Every tender, loving moment … during every sensual engagement with a woman, there you were on the bed hovering over me … crawling under my skin … mocking my manhood.  Cheating the world out of the best part of me … the part that hasn’t happened.”

And here, again.  One last time then I promise we’re done. 

Not another dark day; there will be no more flesh for you to feed on. 

“I’LL NEVER BE …”

A Complete Man – There it is – Tainted.  Impure. 

Not a proper man like Hemingway or Tarzan. 

I am a male, but that’s not enough to make it in my world, or to escape the one I left behind.  A conditioned, engineered, rationed, derivative … fictional simile of a falsified man. 

“Tormented between the chasm of broken and healed, and lost and forsaken, lives acceptance.  Acceptance is a death sentence for hope, and that’s not good enough for me.”

DEAR DEAD FRANK

“You’re a monster.”

You broke me.  All of me.  Took the It from me before my It blossomed.

Another thing I’ll confess:

I lied.

I mislead you when I said I’d never be a complete man.

I’M HEALED

I’m very good inside and out …

Strong All Over … You had me, but couldn’t keep me …

This is Me The Man Talking, Brother. I’ve a heart, a soul, a mind – a body, a face, a mouth – a voice, a choice, a plea:

“Please Die Inside Me …”

MY MY

My Faith is Forgiveness.  My Fate is Forgiveness.

And so, I share my Fate with you in exchange for your pain.  Your suffering.  Your guilt.  Your sin. 

My forgiveness.  My gift is love – Take My Love – It’s all I have.  Now go.  Leave me and the Others in peace.  We’re done here.  Fini.

“May God have Mercy on you …”

Photo by Rahul from Pexels

Chapter 2: Don’t Touch Me

An excerpt from ‘Kookaburra Me’ – Copyright © 2020 by Michael A. Kuch

PLEASE DON’T EVER TOUCH ME

“I’ve had an incurable problem with staring at people …”

Since I was 3 months-old when I was greeted by the first big lie: meeting the impostor masquerading as Jolly Old St. Nick during my first Christmas. 

It may have been the best day of my life until 1998. 

Better than one summer afternoon five-and-a-half years later when a bloodsucker touched me without my permission – against my will, I had no will, what will does a small defenseless child have? – that would be the beginning of the worst days. 

Continue reading “Chapter 2: Don’t Touch Me”

Chapter 1: Baby Boo

An excerpt from ‘Kookaburra Me’ – Copyright © 2020 by Michael A. Kuch

SWADDLED IN BLUE

“It’s late afternoon nap time and I’m not sleeping …”

I’m awake, lounging in an early-1960s powder blue snowsuit previously owned by another ungrateful, snot-nosed little shitling before my mother scooped it from the Saint Vincent de Paul thrift store bin.  Its zipped below my pudgy neck over a ribbed cotton turtleneck onesie snapped at the undercarriage where my pinkish, wrinkled scrotum adjoins to the neighboring taint a tickle away from my baby-sized anus. 

Continue reading “Chapter 1: Baby Boo”

Preamble To “Kookaburra Me”

An excerpt from ‘Kookaburra Me– Copyright © 2020 by Michael A. Kuch

BROUHAHA.  BASTARDO.  BÊBÊ.

“Not Funny, Kook!”

None of the Beautiful Shit masquerading as Mia Dolce Vita was my idea, except Part III – Act VII, the penultimate scene where I perish – or do I? – in a Shiitake mushroom plume of ash, vapor and chunks of molten lava at the smoldering base of Mauna Loa … a reluctant Mannchylde Martyr hedging on a big, fat promise to save Humanity from it’s nasty-assed self while a paparazzo potschkes with the lens cap and misses the Magma Enchilada exploding on my impromptu photo bomb.

Continue reading “Preamble To “Kookaburra Me””

Kooka, Kə-pēsh?

THE DROP-OUS

I’ll Bite Nearly Anything – If It Dangles Close Enough To My Pearly Grill – And Surrender To The Occasional Notion … That The Blogosphere Will Survive Nicely With Or Without My Acrimonious-cum-Sanctimonious-cum-Unctuous Offerings.

Though It’s Not Nearly Enough To Convince Either Of My Polarizing Alter Egos – Uppity Me Or My Shameless Self – That A Few Ripe Chapters Of Kookaburra Me Shouldn’t Find A Tidy Domicile On Kuched In The Coming Weeks.

Capisce – Kə-pēsh – Capeesh.

“So, What The Frangipane Is Kookaburra Me?”

Continue reading “Kooka, Kə-pēsh?”