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Chuck Palahniuk

who is he?… what is he?… how does he write like he does?… how does anyone for that matter?… endless questions never define the reason certain people appeal to us why this over that trait seems more accessible than others when it is all splayed out before the reader who ponders over these things, he walked across the stage after i got there late and had mild chitchat with a close friend of mine who then decided to be there and received a signed copy of his new book as consolation prize for the thirty dollar fee, and with two lovely sidekicks to boot for which there was no short supply as the boots dangled from the ceiling almost too low to allow anyone’s head space to move let alone elbow as the place was packed to the brim with lunatics of every sort and variety… the trio motioned and chatted onstage revving a once mild audience into a loud frenzy of literary mavens ribald on drunken hooliganism at a bar i had never been to prior to this foray into abandon, as all my fears wore away at the drop of a drink of which i only had two with a shot of whiskey as inspired by the cue taken from the angel’s lips as she told a very elaborate tale that i cannot recall all of the details of, but i do know that i had slyly recorded most of the incident without a concern which was during this period of time as i hung back by some of the better speakers wired in the place to feed us back the writers words… that shot messed with my head just enough to loosen my already established stoicism that i truly had gotten used for most of my life up until the moments when i decide to actually drink alcohol, it kills the meat of the evening with a blurring sense that pieces are not going to be recalled when i actually put my mind to it in this loopy current state of sleepy haze almost sickness because of my behavior under the spell of the night as i marched straight to the venue to catch a ringing glimpse of these authors admired, and my friend was the only buoy to guide me back to shore though was also the reason i allowed my guard to drop as i felt a camaraderie between us through our mutual interest in spoken word and poetry as i became another lunatic like the rest… even though no one really noticed this change but me as the alcohol worked its way into my system without any more register than the tossing back of this poisonous urge as the surge of human debris swirls tighter, pressed like ritual slayings in other countries to happen because of this distinctive lack of compassion which leads us all further down the rabbit hole that society seems impressed to keep taking as route to some kind of oblivion chilling at the doorstep, but my intoxication was more than i first conceived that night as money i had thought was there was missing as i changed clothes to match my feelings into the pajamas we were requested to wear to this casual function… the bathroom seemed safe even though the drunken me didn’t look back once the pants were off trying to participate like the rest of these mad dogs who had prepared for some rebellion, the cash was just gone as i stumbled back through the audience meeting my friend where i had left them just moments previously even though i only realized much later that the money was gone because of how thoroughly i had explored the backpack that i brought, and in which i stored my pants with my other stuff acquired Here thinking the zippers might bust if the pocket were too tightly packed so i kept an almost paranoid watch over the bag the whole night… though i guess not too tightly if i am missing money i knew i had learning the lesson that i should have checked my pants pockets before throwing off the pair all-too enthusiastically before i was ready, my recording only went halfway as well just as the author every one was there to see started telling an unpublished story and my nice recorder pooped out because it didn’t have any room left to record of yet another group of mistakes to take place, but the evening left the morning there to catch up with what became of the night as my friend and i had adjourned to my residence to hang out after the bar had become a dive where we both recite our poetry along with close friends who have fallen in love with words like us… we were all raring to go up and take poetic reins with a license to kill like never needing to say your sorry for what is said as it is too much for the weaker of us to truly absorb, the flurry of emotions that make us do what we do expressed as the poems drop lips inconsequential of what people think or say as counter to this voiced opinion drawn from a peanut gallery of the petty precious thoughts spent on what means little to nothing to anyone, but still we rant and rave against the dying of the light as it shines down enlightening what we have left to stave off the demons in this darkness that we have allowed to hide from our scrutiny as i recover now from what happened then as the night left us spent… one final detail, the audience blew up balls loaded with glow sticks, and threw them around…

Thanks, khet.