Kill Your Guru, a Blog by Eric Jennings

Kill Your Guru

Sign in Subscribe

On the Front

The street was empty, except for me and him on opposites sides. Despite his six-plus height and broad shoulders, his clothing hung on him loosely like a child growing into hand-me-downs. He wore a green paisley shirt, faded blue jeans and scuffed black boots. Tattoos peeked out

High contrast monochrome photo of a graffiti covered tunnel leading into a distant blackness.

No Exit

In the dark, the bully becomes something else. Primeval. Savage. Thirsty for something unquenchable. The snapping turtle doesn’t know why he snaps.

Dance Party

Juno came to visit this evening. Pam was out so it was just me and Bug. Juno likes to hold birthday parties for her dolls, Maya, and Creepy Baby. Tonight was Maya's birthday, and we had a tea party. Her friends, Pig, Cat, Dolphin, Manatee Mom, and Creepy

On the Beach

The aura was real, as far as I could tell. It was as if I was seeing the electricity that animates the world. As if my eyes could see the electromagnetic radiation waves that are always pulsing over us unseen.

Kitaro, The Dead, and Queequeg Walk Into a Bar

Kitaro, The Dead, and Queequeg Walk Into a Bar

Peak moments. Lucid moments. Insight. Understanding. Clarity. Enlightened moments. What fun.

Something's Happening

Something's Happening

There may be nothing new under the sun, but there are always new ways to let it shine.

Math and Aftermath

Math and Aftermath

Who of them will come to be? How many of them are you and me?

If You Know, You Know

If You Know, You Know

If you have been living with CPTSD, you will probably get this. If not, it is simply designed to make you go, "huh?"

The Boy Who Stayed: A Lifetime of Healing

The Boy Who Stayed: A Lifetime of Healing

The idea that all of us adults have an inner child is silly. Which is the point.

Subvert

fuck art make noise

It's All One Story

It's All One Story

I am not a disciplined writer. I don't even like to call myself a writer. I don't get writer's block. I get writer's fright. I've said this before. Why does writing frighten me? Because when writing, I can't lie. I can't hide.

i bargained for salvation

i bargained for salvation

i used to buy opium from a guy who wore renfaire clothing and always made me listen to him sing 'shelter from the storm' i just cut ties with a grifter poet who'd been grooming me for a few months, i don't know what

all i have are these words

Hard to Classify

all i have are these words

And I Think to Myself...

And I Think to Myself...

Open the Cage Door

Open the Cage Door

I'm on a short bridge, standing on a milk crate for a better view. A tribe of gorillas inhabits the creek-side below. The creek is known as Blood River, but nobody knows why. There is a beat up old suitcase somewhere near... well, somewhere, anyway. There is

the garden snake

the garden snake

I. the two boys the garden snake the sun dried wood the long stretch the measure II. I remember on my back my skin warmth above and below fading into suchness the sun III. the one boy the opened jack knife the silver blade (the cutting the blood) the dying

251022 Tarot

Godot will always be coming, but certain never to arrive. Be like Lucky, the wise fool.

The Life of Jesus as a Religious Paranoic

The Life of Jesus as a Religious Paranoic

glorious baklava, ex libras, hep hey, ad infinitum

shoes for sale

Write a story in six words...

251012 Tarot

The purpose of making art is making art. It will never be enough. It is all there is.

Sweet Jane

Pardon my outrage, but there's a greater point if you read to the end.

This is Not About a Shirt

This is Not About a Shirt

I was shopping for shoes when I saw the shirt. It was by itself on a torso mannequin and it whispered to me as I passed it. “I am for you!”

Forgiveness is Not a Requirement for Healing

Forgiveness is Not a Requirement for Healing

Lies they still tell me…

wail mary

from the sacrilege series

i am afraid

to be alone with myself