Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Kendra Grant goes to the dentist.

I broke a tooth the other day. Strangely it didn't hurt, not even remotely. Turns out I had a dead tooth, the little guy just gave up his will to live and let go. It's not all that often that it turns out to be quite convenient to have a dentist for a father, but there are these rare and wonderful occasions that it pans out quite well, if I do say so myself. I instantly had a new tooth made for me the following day. There is not much else to say about this rather mundane experience, just the following photo documentation of the birth of my artificial tooth:

My dad is a seriously serious badass.

The little drill sounded like a transistor radio in my head.

I may look concerned in this picture, and rest assured, I was.

My dad pulled down this little mirror so I could see what he was up to. And to just generally get me to shut the fuck up.

Note the blood on the gloves.

The aftermath. Weapons of mouth destruction (well actually mouth regeneration, but whateves).

A side note - I've had a splinter in my heel for well over a week now, I don't think it's coming out.

Monday, February 26, 2007


We are here to help her sing her song.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

removing nails from hands and feet because christ figures are a tired cliché *

lying in my incarnation
there was a great tarnation
a five year old accident
overwhelming the incident
of things, many things

tonight words have been whispered
leaving my insides bloated and blistered
ancient letters pooling and swirling
finally settling
with three words still whirling

I have a splinter in my heel
which is most decisively real
to tell the truth its been quite some time
since the last time I felt this fine


* forgive me for my sins, this is the first poem I've ever written

Due to raging temperatures, one cannot fathom my contentedness.

Small little tiny gestures. Things you find, things for free, things for change. Things that don't take a lot of effort. These things these things, these things mean the world to me. They are never taken for granted, they are tallied, and stored for times when I need breaths pushed into me. They are noted and described to those who care to listen who prefer matters of heart to matters of mind. A select few know the secrets of the mountain of small tiny gestures which I sit upon and contemplate how wonderful it is up there, how far I see, and that height can give you a certain perspective. I would sit up there all day long if it weren't for the heat my body radiates when I am up there, melting all the tiny pieces of chocolate and burning the scraps of newspaper that contain comics about cats and useful words for stories.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

. . . is wack

Crack is a very upsetting subject matter. Even more upsetting than just knowing it exists, is knowing someone you love smokes it. If this kind of thing does not keep you up at night, you have absolutely no heart. End of story. Fin.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Nail a book to a tree, bury a tooth.

It's funny, I almost never take my phone up to my attic when I go to bed. I used to all of the time out of fear that someone I loved might be hurt while I slept at any ungodly hour of the evening, but have since broken the habit, due to an overzealous (and now wonderfully sober and an amazing friend to boot) ex who sometimes called me at odd hours completely wasted saying weird things which put off various boyfriends. Digressions. Anyways, I rarely do this anymore, but I did. It's amazing how a phone call at 6:30 in the morning on a Sunday can change everything.


On a side note, I have recently decided to not believe in coincidence once again. Its all magic from here on out, go go go ahead lovely little wonderlings suspend my disbelief a little longer, wish on your candles, nail a book to a tree for protection, bury a tooth, hold your breath and knock on the roof when you blow a yellow light.

(all of my friendship bracelets fell off when I met you, this means something immense)

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

At all at all.

I am reminded tonight of a night last year (for some ungodly reason), when I was being broken up with and was unaware. Not a truly heart breaking story, he was a lack-luster lover, and it had only been one month. Regardless, the one and only thing about our short and sweet stint of a relationship that I value was one thing he said to me that night. I remember sitting across the table, with my heals hooked onto a bar on the stool I was sitting on, rocking back and fourth, in a dive bar close to his house. He went on and on about himself, much like he always did, I sat and smiled as best I could. Really quite a bore. Then he said it, I can even still hear his voice, the one and only time he referenced me in a conversation. He was trying to break it off but was being impossibly vague and made a reference to my past love life. He said to me, "It's just that it is pretty obvious that you've been fucked over pretty bad in the past . . . " To which I replied, in kind of a shell shocked state, "Oh god! Do I seem that jaded?" "No, that's it, you're sweet, and that's why I feel so bad."

That is forever burned in my brain.

It's nights like tonight that generally make me want to seek the shelter of a wooded/forested area. Somewhere I can be alone. However tonight I want to take my small friend with me. I want to grab that boney little hand, and lead her to the place I go to be away in flight and fantasy, show her this more than tepid temperature climate. I want to take my darling KTP and show the woman the secluded place where I can drown and come back to life if I so desire, where I can float up into the cosmos and ballroom dance with the ghost of a 5 year old who forgives me after all, at all at all. I want to hold her boney hand in my boney hand and together our four little chicken legs will burst through walls of dirt and clay and thatch and stone and brick and plaster and we can drink cheap champagne in little plastic cups until we are old women shopping in the supermarket on Valentine's Day together, reading labels, completely happy.

Sunday, February 11, 2007

I saw this tonight.

Nothing much to say, just that this is about perfect.

Friday, February 09, 2007

To the moon with your sympathies, children, I will take you to the moon and back!

Yes, the rumors are true, yours truly is once again single. And yes, yes, lets stop the mill (the rumor mill, that is), it is true, it was against my wishes. Ces't la vie. As always, I feel somewhat fragile, made of glass. Modeled after a Tennessee Williams play. As always, I can't eat, I can't sleep, I am taking too many drugs, it is all true to some extent. As always I'll be very reclusive and angry for a while. Again, as always (yes you can expect I will wear this fucking motif out, so just shut yer mouth) eventually I'll get my words back and start writing and something wonderful will come fourth. This is how I've won two grants already, and darlings, it's grant season. And after all, my middle name is Grant. Apologies to James, but, like myself, you dated and fucked over a writer. Ces't la vie.

- Kendra Grant Malone

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Life was pretty good last week.

I got back from NY on Tuesday. This is some of what happened.

My dad is a really wonderful travel companion.

In the aeroplane.

My dad LOVES The Onion.

I stayed in this hotel called the Larchmont, which I would recommend to anyone on a budget. It sells itself as a "European Style" hotel, which basically means that it is a hostel, with a bathroom at the end of the hall which you share with your neighbors. Eitherway, it was only 80 bones a night, and pretty cute, and in Manhattan.

This is what it looks like at night.

This is what it looks like in the day.

A beautiful hallway that leads to my room.

The hotel had this weird safari theme throughout. It kind of gave me the creeps, but in a way it also tickled my fancy.

This tiger was outside my door and everyday it looked at me like this when I left.

My breathtaking view of NYC.

This proves how European this place was.

The shower down the hall had the most beautiful light.

For lunch one day, dad and I went to Katz's Deli.

There was beef hanging in the window.

There was a lot of shit on the walls and my dad kept looking at it saying, "Isn't this neat honey?" It was pretty neat.

I ate the best philly cheese-steak I've ever eaten in my whole life.

Some guy took our picture. My dad just kept talking. It's cool though.

There was a pet shop on 6th Ave by my hotel that I would pass everyday on my way to the trains. Everytime couldn't help but be hypnotized with cute.

After Katz's, dad and I wandered into China Town. This is, no joke, The New Big Wang Restaurant. Do people in China Town know this is funny?

This is my sister in her kitchen in Park Slope Brooklyn.

This is her living room, which I would say is pretty big for NYC.

Whyatt is busy guarding Ali from the mean streets.

My sister is a fucking babe.

Silly sisters in subways! Alliteration is fun!

Truth be told, I fucking love this silly bitch.

My dad is fucking EPIC.

One morning I went to a cute cafe down the street from my hotel called French Roast.

This is what I ate.

On another day I met up with some dear old friends Jake and Riley. We had brunch with some other friends, then bummed around the island for the day, shopping, eating, subway stalagmite hunting, eventually going back to their loft in Bushwick Brooklyn.

Riley is cleaning the kitchen in preparation for the wonderful dinner he made us.

Riley is a special boy.

Jake is special too, in a creepy goblin sort of way. He is such an uncle.

This is Jake pretending to be important.

A glowing ball. These boys and girl are quite tasteful.

The asian corner. Tasteful indeed.

This is Maerie (she spells her name funny like, I don't know if I got it right). She lives with J & R and is also a dear old college friend. I like her very much; she likes wine very much.

Riley likes to shake is groove thang when he cooks.

Maerie has had enough with this foolishness and sets out to stop it.

A handsome family.

A handsome dinner.

I spent one fine evening with a little lady named Ellen, whom is my pen pal of sorts. I had never met her in person and was a little nervous that we might not get along as well as we did in written form. However those feelings were soon squelched as we had a lovely night, going from one place to the next, some better than others, until I twisted my ankle dancing crazy with the lass at 7am-ish. Unfortunately I forgot my camera at home that night, but fortunately she is quite pretty and people with cameras love her, thusly there is proof of our hanging out, even if I am mostly indistinguishable.

Yeaup, that's me in the corner, behind the drunk bafoons, with her whispering into my ear. And when I say whispering I mean shouting at the top of her lungs to talk over the music.

This is what she looks like if you can see her face. She is quite pretty and neat.

This is my sister doing what she does best (talking at the speed of fucking light). Hearts.

One final note from my dad:

Aww shucks. That's all she wrote.