DanielKing's profile

Crack was like a newly discovered jiz-crusted gym sock that I couldnt help but sniff. Even thinking about it now makes me gag; although, whatever nauseousness that might cause me, there are times I find myself standing in the ole locker-room looking for any excuse not to start prying lockers open. I cant count the number of times that Ive driven 18th and Vine hoping to see Some dirty socks? No, old crack slingers When did you start talking about drugs? After we finished the last bowl Well tha...

Watching the water drain, watching as the level slowly dropped taking with it a summer full of excitement. As a perfectly good batch of chemically precise and pathogen free water followed the course of gravity through the pipes that lay under the concrete that was sustaining my squatted pose, I realized something about myself… When I squat, if my heels are touching ground, my armpits have to rest on my knees while my arms act as a counter weight strait out in front of me. When I tried to put ...

Untitled: Chapter One (partial and unedited) The door handle turns and out steps Joe, the gray clouds of an early rain greet him from the western sky and the smell of rotted flowers or rotting log innards breeze by in pulses from a southern wind that cannot make its mind up as to be consistent. Humidity was at a breaking point and moisture glistened over even before the clouds could drop their load. Joe took 8 steps forward, stopped and noticed that he'd forgotten his presentation on, "The Ne...

Rent this movie. What I loved most (not a spoiler): To express the monotony of Schultze’ life, Schorr buoys practically every shot with a Minimalist simplicity. The cinematography cuts from one stationary and deep focus scene to another with only a handful of shots conforming to the motion of the actor(s). One of these scenes occurred while Schultze is playing his beloved Zydeco tune, a scene I was particularly intrigued by, not only because it was shot with motion, but it also focuses the ca...

radio has not been playing and for the most part the sounds that penetrate my aprosexiatic proclivity have sung from the horns of impatient vehicles of the rimmed-out Impalian genre. then i stop, a light turned me mute to myself and a plastic cup blew by like a lost leaf in a desert. there is a discourse, an exchange of racial and socioeconomic factors, a conversation explicating disparity, screaming non-verbally the state of injustice or just plain disdain for the non-Caucasian. you'll see i...