—ALL I DID WAS BOW DOWN.  ALL I DID WAS STAY STILL

…Some people have all the answers.  Me, I’ve just got questions.

…When someone asks you if you’re serious, it usually means they’re not really paying attention.

…“All we’re really given is the sunshine and our names.”

…Just because something has your name on it, doesn’t mean it’s yours.

…I’m alway suspicious when ppl say, “You sound really good,” and even more so when they say, “You look really good.”

…Do you ever wonder if ppl say what they really mean?  I do.

…All fiction is non-fiction, but we don’t always know it.

…If I could make you into a book, you’d be the best book ever.  You’d be a best-seller, the great American novel, only non-fiction. 

…I’ll admit that I have trouble making eye contact with certain ppl, and that I don’t know what that says about me.

…I’m never going to feel sad again is something I should probably never say.

…Call me sexist, but there’s nothing worse than seeing a woman cry.  Especially if you’re the reason for their tears. 

…Sometimes it’s advantageous to have a poor sense of smell.

…The Sixth Sense still holds up.  Watch it, and you’ll see.

…It’s very challenging to OD when you’re sober.

…Sober has a cold ring to it, unless you’re an addict who’s been sober for some time.

…That bottle is dancing by itself, and I’ve got nothing to do with it.

…Wicka, wicka, what?

…“Remember that time we found your mom’s valium, and took it?” 

…Pretending not to hate (…) is so exhausting.  I might as well work out, run a marathon, climb the stairs or Mount Everest.

…I have a best friend who climbs mountains for fun.  That’s hard to believe, in more ways than one.

…Walk it back—there’s a lot you can interpret in those three words.

…If you’re gone for forty-eight hours and no one notices you’re gone and no one’s called the police, that tells you everything you need to know.  

…I hate crying babies on planes, not because they’re annoying, but because they sound like they’re being tortured by the sky that doesn’t care.

…Sometimes when I cry it’s like the tears are sprigs of blood pulsing out of my heart through the wrong chamber.

…I’ve got dozens of poems and stories I could be posting here and yet I’m making you suffer with all this nonsense.  Does that make me a masochist?  Probably, but in reality I’m a pacifist and a pretty nice guy.

…Here’s what I’m thinking right now:  You and I go good together.

——WHEN I THOUGHT I LOST ME, YOU KNEW WHERE I LEFT ME

…Whenever somebody says something’s wrong, I immediately think it’s my fault.

…I like board games, and dice games, and games you play on your phone, but I don’t like when people play games with me.

…Sometimes it’s not the beauty in the eye of the beholder, but the unhealthy.

…When someone asks you, “Why did you let me do that?” they’re usually asking that question to themselves.

…You can tell me anything you want or need to, and it’ll stay right here.

…The girl catty corner from my seat is journaling or writing a story, but her print is so small I can’t read a single word.  It’s like the ice cream is right there, melting in the bowl.

…It’s hard to take rhyming poetry seriously, but then it’s sometimes hard to take me seriously.

…If the worst thing you’ve ever done is cheat on a test once, then you’re pretty much a saint, and you and I aren’t comparing rap sheets.

…The reality is most of the time we don’t want our questions answered.

…Whenever I read something amazingly strange but fantastic, I wonder how the hell they came up with it, but then I look at my computer screen, see something I’ve written, and right there’s the answer.

…It must really be something to stand at the end of a rainbow.  I imagine it to be like standing next to God.  But then what do I know?

…At the hospital, everyone is on your side and they’re rooting hard for you, but it’s still you we’re talking about.

…Sometimes I think I’m becoming Nicholas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas, and I don’t really like Nicholas Cage or the idea of becoming the character he played in that film.

…I think there’s a reason I’m writing all this, but it just hasn’t occurred to me yet.

--YOU PICKED UP ALL MY PIECES, PUT ME BACK TOGETHER

…http://ghostparachute.com/issue/august-2018-issue/a-sky-full-of-sheep/

…How you get down from a place usually reveals a lot about the kind of person you are, or want to be.

…Trash is a pretty sad word any way you look at it.

…I know it’s stupid, yet I still feel hopeful when I find loose change on the asphalt or at a 7/11 parking lot.  Makes me feel like things are looking up somehow.

…Is it a problem if I cry too easily?  Is it a problem if I value crying over eating?

…My stomach is currently making noises that sound like a herd of whales being tortured underwater.

…It’s good to realize that good advice is only good if you make it so.

…It’s good to be really committed and serious about an endeavor, but if you hunker down too far, it might be difficult to get back up, especially if you have a bad back.

…Sometimes leading the witness is the smart play, though someone’s always going to object, and then what good is it?

…My friends tell me I can be a little sensitive.  I wonder if that’s a defective gene I have, or if it’s just something I do wrong.

…“Do what you love.”  Sage advice, but easier said than done for most people.  

…Alcohol really likes me, but we’re in a trial separation right now.  That’s another true story.

…It’s a little tricky when all you have are consonants left.  Hard to make a complete sentence with that.

…When people say you’d even be late to your own funeral, they make themselves out to be an unreliable narrator.

…Deaf or blind—that’s one hell of a choice. 

…Some people name their cars.  Some men name their penises.  I guess that means names are important, though I’ve never liked any of the ones I’ve been called.

…There’s no greater way of showing you genuinely care for someone than caring about what’s most important to them.

…Don’t we all want to fall asleep on that part of the chest that rises and falls?

…I don’t mean to overstate the obvious, but time is moving much faster than we are.

…Yeah, the question is: Who am I writing this to?  Hmmm.

…I guess what I really want is to be dog-eared.

—MY EYES ABOVE, WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE. 

…Did you wonder if I’d ever come back?  I sometimes do.

…Does absence make the heart grow fonder?  I don’t know.  It can already be 100% fond, unable to get anymore fond of someone.  But distance can certainly create a burning yearning.  That’s why when—like last week for me—it is truly a gift if you are able to spend extended time with the ones you love, but haven’t seen for so long.

..."So long."  Two words I never want to hear.

…Some people absolutely hate the word giddy.  Who knew?

…This is going to take some time getting used to.  Give me a couple of weeks.

…Ppl can be me mean to me, it’s okay.  It happens to everyone, but when a female is mean to me, all I see in my head are these pictures of my mother, and it feels really scary.

…I hate when I can’t explain something the way I’m thinking it in my head, then when my words are out I’ve just botched things further and the person listening looks at me like I’m a traitor, or insane.

…I spent some hours in a coffee shop last week and saw four different people writing in their journals and I thought: thank God for that.

…108 degrees in Phoenix today.  Try explaining that.

…I’m telling you, you gotta be careful.  They're crooks lurking everywhere.

…I hope the person (?) who stole my backpack is a reader and can decipher really hideous handwriting.  I hope he/she (?) is reading this right now and feeling shitty.  Does hoping that make me a shitty person, too?

…At the airport, I helped a woman carry her heavy bags down some wicked steps and her daughter, about five or so, said, “What a gentleman!”  I’m not really, but it was cute.  Even a five year old can make me smile.  Especially a five year old. 

…At the airport, I saw a toddler wearing a Captain America costume.  He wore an eye mask with a capital A in the center of his brows.  Not much later, I saw a toddler girl with a pink cowboy hat and outfit.  God, I love kids.

…I hope I don’t look as agitated as most people at airports look.

…It’s only at airport bars where they ask, “Six or nine ounces?” That could be a metaphor for things, if you think about it in the right or wrong way.

…I drink too much.  I could blame it on ppl, past or present, or circumstances, but the fact is I’m the culprit.  I’m the tragic figure in this play.

…“I’ll have another, please.”

…What if my good friend Cabernet is really just out to get me?

…Someone explained to me that being a member of the Mile High Club can just be something that happens under a blanket.  That made me relieved.  The thought of a couple doing it in the airplane lavatory is disturbing to me, and not sexy or exciting at all.

…Lavatory or restroom?  Bathroom or powder room?  John, or Jack Kennedy?

…How do planes fly?  I mean, really, how?  200 people on board with all that baggage...

…People sure like to sleep on planes, and when they do, they never show their good sides. 

…There's nothing worse than having to pee very badly while 200 people in front of you deplane in slow-motion.

…There’s a lot that does and doesn't happen on a plane.  Someone could write a really interesting book about that.

…Be careful, the contents may have shifted.  Yep.

—SOMETHING’S CHANGING IN THE SPIRIT.  SOMETHING’S BREAKING I CAN FEEL IT

…The demands of living have consequences, and that is called fate.

…It’s a funny phrase, isn’t it, “Don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater”?  Or, “Bite the bullet”?

…I’m that voice you’re hearing in the dark.

…In about seven hours from now I’ll be in New Mexico with people I adore.  From that standpoint, things are looking up.

…When people say It’s not personal, they don’t know what they’re talking about.

…The difference between what it’s worth and what it’ll sell for are two different things altogether.

…I mean anyone can find a reason to be happy, right?  Even when they’re unhappy?

…We all get a little scared as we get older.  I guess that’s all that is.

…Life can taste like flowers or expensive wine, but there’ll come a time when you’re sick of it.

…Good wine or bad, I can never tell for sure.

…Eating too many roses can be a problem, and cause for concern.

…Some people can be too literal about things, which can be a real problem for other people.

…It’s the strangest thing, wanting something back so badly.

…Yesterday, I received my contributors copies of New Micro: Incredibly Short Fiction, out from W.W. Norton.  I’ve got two pieces in it.  Yay.

…My newest story collection, This Is Why I Need You, has a cover, and hopefully will be coming out soon from Ravenna Press.  Yay.

…Today is already one of the thirstiest days ever.

…I think my dog has a very good understanding that no one loves her more than me.

…We are all going to die, and nothing can be done about that, but there’s now, and this, and that.

…So much for first impressions.

…Most of the time I don’t know what this is about.  Most of the time I don’t know much about much.

…Outside the sea is a mirror looking back at me doubtfully.

…There is one side, and then there is the other.  It’s where the shadows brush that things are fully explainable and become agreed upon.

…Words, words, words.  Silly words.  Sometimes that’s all I have.

...“I like my music to scream at me.”  Yeah, I get that.

…The spiders are back, hanging from the windows like flat, dead eyes that have seen too much.

…I think you might have hit me in your sleep last night.  I never realized how sharp your knuckles are.

…The silence tells me everything I need to know.

…I saw a star fall from the sky last night, and I saw the hole it left behind.

…Would you love me if I was someone else?

…I wonder how many more mistakes I’ve got in me.

—I’M DOING THE BEST I CAN DO RIGHT NOW

…This is me, starting all over from scratch.

…See that big empty chair over there?  That’s where I’m sitting.

…I’m trying to remember how to hum, the reasons for it, both jaunty and meaningless.

…I know people are supposed to love sleep.  Everyone seems to, but me.

…People who love, outwork workers every day of the week.

…The real problem is the urgency of now.

…I have surrendered to the terrain before, and I’ll probably do it again.

…Emotion is a terrible driver, but a great passenger.

…Someone told me tears are like love glue, then said HaHa Eew!

…It’s just the time when it feels like all is going fabulously that we make mistakes, we overreach and over borrow.

…The more I’m able to see beauty in the broken is the more I’m able to change my perspective on everything else.

…I’m such a tool.  When a team’s behind 9-1 in the 7^th, I still think we have a chance.

…What difference do words make anyway when there’s all that body language?

…The absence of something can exert a very strong influence.

…Very well, but the answers are all in the palm of your hand.

…I’d like to think I’ve been falsely accused, but thinking that would be false.

…Look here: these lines, they tell you everything you need to know.

…There aren’t words for half of what goes on in this life.

…Being a child is living in a world apart.  And when one falls from it, it is like an angel cast from heaven.

…No one who has private thoughts going on in their head is quite sure of not being overheard.

…Show me your thoughts when you’re ready, and I’ll show you mine.

…When a person is drunk and trying to eat at the same time, it’s often helpful to make the attempt while looking into a mirror.

..."Once upon a time, the only way to keep from falling was to cling to the roots of the trees.” Joy Williams

…You have to love someone, and hopefully you start with yourself.

…Someone told me that a tree struck by lightning can come back to life.

…When you’re a kid, you are possessed by emotions that will guide you forever, in a good way or not.

…Reality is so confusing.  The senses are such bad witnesses.

..."As one barfly said to another:  life is a dirty glass, or a very dirty glass.” Joy Williams

…Sometimes we are like salamanders dancing in the fire, and other time we are like lollipops awaiting that first lick.

…If you turn into nothing, then I will turn into next to nothing and be next to you.

—WHO AM I TALKING TO AGAIN?

…What a day Friday ended up being.  I could have done without Friday, that’s for sure.

…But I took the online writing workshop at Bending Genres, led by Meg Tuite, this weekend.  As usual, it was fantastic, and as usual I produced a lot of work.  And I (braggart alert) got some really kind, and encouraging feedback:

--Truly stunning work. You write on another level, with great insight and emotional force. Your language is poetic and mesmerizing, a triumph in itself.

--Len, this is truly exquisite writing. Every line is poetic and speaks to one's inner way of understanding. Really, each of these pieces is a knockout. Well done.

--Len,
You never cease to blow me away with your words and how prolific you are! These are all heavy with the weight of their beauty in horror. Your choice of words is gorgeous and the subject matter terrifying.  Beauties.  LOVE!  LEN.

--Len, "Your morning mouth tastes like kelp and your conscience has an asterisk attached to it again." WOW! Each one has that special Len wow factor. I don't how you do it. So succinct, so unique, so bleak and dark yet tender and genuine... all while still kicking my ass in Words with Friends. Do you sleep? Do you eat dictionaries and shit flash? I don't know your secret, but I admire the hell out of your writing.

--Len, I am still doing a slow read of "The Dishonesty of Certain Mirrors." You have a rare ability to combine the macabre, scintillating, sensual. You also are very VERY good at self-editing for publication. Your work ethic is enviable. What I want to say is you said at the last retreat that you don't know how to write "hopeful." I counter that by saying every act of writing you do is hope. And the reader you reach will feel less alone and more validated, edified, and fascinated. You model a positive sort of masculinity. Vulnerability is the greatest strength there is. And our boys need to hear it more than ever. Keep on, friend! And don't let the paintings hit you on the head.

--I love what Sara said, in fact am in tears over it. Only because I relate to your writing in a very similar way. For me, it's vital. It's alive. It speaks over the volumes of other detritus and weakness. I relate and that is such an important aspect of the risk and heaviness and risks you continuously take on the page. Keep up your prolific workshop work, my friend. Way to go!

--And I'm thanking you too, Sara, because I remember that comment of Len's as well and have thought of it often. So glad you said this to Len, because truth needs to be said. Wish I had, glad you did.

--Len, Your writing! “Sulfur hands.. the towel you toss me… Your morning mouth tastes like kelp, and your conscience has an asterisk attached to it again” unforgettable phrases! One night and The Event are perfect portrayals of dead sex, dead relationship. The Weight of Survival and Circa 1969 just make me want to weep for this child. Ending this like Meg, Len! Love!

…And then there was this from someone in India: Astonished to connect with such a brilliant mind!  Len Kuntz, here's to reading more of you!

…On Friday I head to Taos, NM for eight days for another workshop and what should be a ridiculously enjoyable time.

…But here’s one of the pieces from Saturday:

Circa 1969

Your keyhole eyes tell me everything I need to know, that there’s no way out of here.  You’re the parent prison warden purple monster terrorizing the air.

My shattered glass eyes show different photos of the world.  Babies stabbing babies.  Throats on fire.  Decapitated hands inching across the floor.

As I’ve been instructed to do, I kneel in the corner staring at another narrow crease in this toaster house.  The rocks under my bare knees are the ones you told me to load up in a bucket.  My hands are raised over my head, where they must remain for an hour, or a new Satan will take over hitting this piñata.

Every few seconds, wraiths appear smelling like coal and moldy earth.  Flat in front of me, they blink and blink, then skitter away, frightened by what they’ve witnessed.

Someone in this room is smoking a cigarette.  Someone else is knitting a shawl out of leftover newborn skin.  Someone else seems to be enjoying themselves greatly, singing, “We’ll be coming around the mountain when we come.”

On the TV behind me on the far wall, Walter Cronkite is relaying body counts, though he’s never been to this house or the locked dungeon under the floorboards.