Our Open Mic - matthew klassen's Blog

i don't know whether or not you ever or not come home to locked doors to find your roommate locked in during broad daylight. i don't know whether or not you ever or not come home to find your home the color of dandelions and scrambled eggs when you know for a fact it's blue. this poem is about terror.

May 28

southern women

Published in romanticism, music, Lyrics, cynicism by matthew klassen | Comment (2)

May 28

chartreuse muse

Published in romanticism, poetry, nonfiction, fiction, cynicism by matthew klassen | Comment (3)

thursday, nine thirty.

he was watching her watch her tea steep,

leaves like honeybee swarms -- like grocery shoppers, shopping.

she -- gently tugging the string, she -- coy-ling it around her fingertip

like slow electricity across the table from him.

he was watching her through serpentine steam

when he decided to become a lesbian.

May 22

vain ruminations

Published in romanticism, poetry, nonfiction, fiction, cynicism by matthew klassen | Comment (2)

yesterday,

at least eight people loved me.

May 17

my brother's gun

Published in poetry by matthew klassen | Comment (4)

because words are too weak...

because fists are too soft...

because swords are too quiet...

because two wasn't enough, he armed himself.

May 14

ethics in entertainment final exam

Published in idea, Humor by matthew klassen | Comment (5)

Sex. Violence. Nudity. Potty-language. Sex. These are only five examples of how filmed entertainment is destroying America and turning our children gay, or worse, Mexican. This must not come to pass. The multi-billion dollar media and entertainment industry must be held accountable for showing us and our innocent, helpless children all these disgraceful things that we pay good money to see. Whatever happened to predictability? The milkman, the paperboy, and evening TV? Sex and violence, that's what. Well, we have just three words for the sexy, violent media: hasta la vista, baby. We're mad as hell and we're not going to take it anymore. We, The Committee To Design A New Code Of Ethics For The Entertainment And Media Industries, (or T.C.T.D.A.N.C.O.E.F.T.E.A.M.I.) in order to tell more people what they can and can't do and with greater authority, do hereby enact these Twelve Commandments -- twelve steps, really -- for media sobriety, and demand that anybody, making anything anywhere with moving pictures, with or without sound, strictly adhere to them or face our collective indignation and televised outrage*. Amen.

*televised outrage only available on AM radio and Fox News Channel

Apr 29

death of a terrapin: the cut-throat world of mascot hubris

Published in short story, Humor, fiction by matthew klassen | Comment (2)

His name was Jean, not like the pants. If you were to say "John" without moving your mouth or tongue, that is how you would say his name. You could probably say it if you were drunk too, or if you were French, or both, but since he lived in Baltimore, everyone called him Jean, like the pants, unless they were drunk. That is why he got in the habit of introducing himself as J.P. The "J" was for "Jean" and the "P" was for "Pierre." Jean-Pierre Square: J.P. Square. When he was talking to the pretty girl on the first day of class, he would say "Uhh...hi. My name's J.P." She would nod imperceptibly.

"So, um...are you a theatre major?" he would press a bit more. "Or are you, like, just taking it for fun?"

"Square, Jean?!" A moment passes. His eyes falter, but he keeps grinning.

"Here," he would say through clenched teeth. He was a theatre major, he could hold a smile. She couldn't. She tried, but she couldn't stifle it. She wasn't a mean or insensitive person; she just wasn't a theatre major.

"Pff...Pfff..hm hah!"

The rest of the semester was very awkward between the two of them.

-o-

Apr 22

the baptism ceremony

Published in romanticism, poetry, cynicism by matthew klassen | Comment (2)

i know you're probably all distraught that the calgary flames were just eliminated from playoff contention in game seven about forty-five minutes ago. i'm sure you are. this poem is a response to the deep personal loss we all feel when sporting events don't turn out how we think they should.

Apr 14

cancer. three months.

Published in stream of consciousness, Life, death by matthew klassen | Comment (3)

i don't want to die of cancer: hair-falling-out, retching, hacking, coughing, sighing-to-sleep in a hospital bed. i want to fall off a building. a skyscraper or something. or maybe i'll jump out of a helicopter. air rushing through my hair, pounding in my ears.

Apr 11

Camille

Published in poetry, art by matthew klassen | Comment (3)

this poem was an attempt to write outside my box in order to get paid. it's titled after a mistress of claude monet's and based off these three portraits of her. i was neither published nor paid. i don't even know if it's any good, so i'd be interested in your thoughts.

Apr 08

if i was a lover

Published in music, Lyrics, love by matthew klassen | Comment (4)

Apr 03

the lethal injection of justin morley

Published in Spirituality, short story, sex, philosophy, love, Life, death by matthew klassen | Comment (3)

How long does it take for a bee to die after it stings someone? I heard that once, that a bee dies after it stings someone. Or maybe I read it. I've had a lot of time for reading lately. Does the bee know? Does he know that he's got one shot and that's it for him? Ah, no, I heard it. That's right, I heard it. Somebody got stung. What was his name? Jeff? Jeff. And then Benny says, he says "That's alright Jeff. You know that bee's gonna die real soon. See, they got one stinger. They got one sting and that's it. It's dead." Course, then Jeff went into anaphylactic shock and he was dead. Allergic. I don't think there's any way that bee could have known that Jeff was going to die. See now that -- that would be murder. But supposing the bee did know, that might make it worth it. As it stands, that bee's got to be thinking "I've got one shot. Can't waste it." What made him choose Jeff the Junky? That's why I'm thinking that maybe bees don't know stinging means dying, and that's why I'm wondering how long it takes for a bee to die after it stings someone. If he could have only lived long enough to see the doc call it, it might've been worth it to him. And Jeff was dead inside ten minutes, so it's not impossible. Nobody kills for nothing, so I guess by that logic, nobody gets killed for nothing either.

-o-