Chasing Ghosts

Chasing Ghosts

Dark and cedar-stricken woods
that rape my mind in vulnerable positions
I’ve missed you, ya know?
But what do I know?

You probably runnin’ across branches and vines
without a care in your world
for the grief I’ve become.
Remember when we climbed that big tree over there
and you’d always awe our courage whilst yelling
“Get down from there!” fearing hospital bills.

I miss those days…

Please, if you hear this show me a sign!
Anything!

Figure
standing here is so hopeless
but I have no hope left to lessen.
Every night I dreamt you near me
comforting me, but I’ve forgotten your voice
your manner
your you.

And I wish Joey hadn’t stolen all the tapes of you
so I could watch them until you’d jump from the TV I stare at daily
and help me
live
again.

-Kevin Flors

Picture from Pexels

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Subscription Model Mayhem

Subscription Model Mayhem

Written by Kevin Flors

This piece is OPINION based and speculative

I think its quite easy to say that subscription models are invading the way we consume media today. And with the upcoming release of many more subscription services in the coming months — Disney+, Google Stadia, NBC Peacock, and most recently Mario Kart Tour (a SINGLE mobile game played on phones) — it is safe to say that most consumers are starting to feel overwhelmed by monthly payments, not to mention monthly bills for utilities and services. What is the effect these subscription models have now and how will it affect media in the future?

 

The first word that comes to mind with subscription services: “exclusivity.” The power in offering a piece of media everyone talks about only available on your platform is bound to provide great profits. And especially with all the talent and money that goes into creating these “must-see” shows or movies, traditional cable is struggling to compete. Network channels seldom strike gold with limited budget and talent moving to these platforms offering more money and outlets for success. At the same time, however, it is almost impossible nowadays to watch all of these “must-watch” shows in no small part to the many distinct services providing them. Sure, you can jump free trial to free trial just to try and see the shows, but then another show will come up and you’ll be shit out of luck or money.

 

The most telling sign of things to come from subscription service has to be the Peacock, NBC’s own subscription service that is being advertised as “the only place to watch ‘The Office.'” This concerns me because if this subscription service is used mainly to watch one show, then what’s stopping other timeless, extensive shows or media from doing the same, especially if this is successful? And yes, I know the service has other shows and movies on it, but the point still stands in that we might be fast approaching a media world that is blocked by subscription walls and monthly payments.

 

Another telling sign of this, one may be more egregious then most, is the new app Mario Kart Tour, a mobile game that offers a monthly subscription for special features, in-game items, and challenges. All of this might seem harmless, but it’s important to realize that this is for ONE of the thousands of games on the app store (which now also houses its own subscription service). Mobile games have been doing this for years, but the subscriptions themselves have evolved from simply providing ad-free experiences to this, a subscription that blocks features and items in the app that impacts the experience and playability of the app. It is with bated breath I wait for the results of this and how it may transfer to other media forms.

 

Is it too out of left field to see legacy shows like “The Simpsons” or “The Office” hold their own in-house subscription services to watch their shows? The demand surely points to this being an expensive possibility. The thing that brought subscription services in media to the forefront is the curation of content seldom seen from traditional cable service. If this content requires furthered curation, for what would be a lower price individually, then it’s not a leap to say that shows with extensive enough catalogs wouldn’t look into a small monthly fee for their media. And yes, Disney is congregating its content into one platform, but Disney’s content came from a broader distributor of media (cable), so who’s to say major franchises like Marvel and Star Wars won’t birth new subscriptions from Disney’s service?

 

Merry Christmas and he’s sorry

Merry Christmas and he’s sorry

Elvish imps plagued the twins.

Laughing at their enforced chaos.

The twins, kicking and punching and stabbing.

And stabbing.

 

A green ticket laid in the brother’s hand,

Cold and spastic.

Diabolical deeds never die

While gifts are so grander than sky.

 

He left, with car skidding and hand steering

and fist that bled and choked

a glowing green ticket that flutters in the brother’s hand.

Cold and sanguine.

 

Thoughts of cars and mansions

and man and son

and families

and brothers.

 

Heartless

was the dagger, rotting in Steven.

Heartless was the statue planned for Steven.

Was the killer, brother of Steven, Heartless.

 

He looked at his glowing red fist,

Opened the gift,

Nothing.

No eternal riches.

No winning ticket.

 

The vessel that went by Carson was later found in a lake.

A lake which, on Christmas night, glowed red and green.

 

-Kevin J Flors

 

Source Image

Empty

Empty

Empty our definitions of ignorance.

My horoscope paints a wretched fortitude.

The liar in a field of lepers,

The hound of a parliamentary.

I face a faceless evil,

Lathered muck coats the laughable sadist.

What justifies his poisonous stupor?

His porous odor?

A pontiferous codification?

Organic waves a salutation.

The factory pursues her coitus.

Open conversions of the Nihilists,

The betterment forms an empty knowledge.

Personages filter my delicate dreaming.

A fragile transit unordered,

Under cardboard and excrement,

My eyes ferociously scan for fantastical obsolescence.

A functional lawman suffocates in stationary.

Mindful teething of Californian cattle,

Candlelit by distant obelisks.

An empty ocean poses comatose.

A steward stole my reclamation.

Louder I bellowed a restitution for stagnation.

Emptiness occupies my condolences,

Feeling what minds allow us.

Venerable is our Creator,

But whom do I revere?

Losing is a tariff on our innocence.

Winning is a tariff on our innocence.

Living is a tariff on our innocence.

Empty are definitions of our innocence.

Empty is our definition.

— Kevin J. Flors

 

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Photograph from Pexels

part two

part two

Guessing my seconds

failing to forget

the years I’ve wasted

the times spent crying.

A ledge staring at me

no more waiting

no more wailing

a loudness in the silence.

Show more feeling

for the sorrows

my depressing

spirit gouges.

Hallow sprites

carefully caress

the son you gave me…                                 what I gave my son.

I’d caressed, cared fully

but spry was the hollow

gouging his spirit.

His deep resting.

My sorrows for

feelings you’d shown

but silent was your loud

he wails no more

waits no more

a pledge to my star.

Crying spent my time

wasted my years

my forgotten failures

my second guessing.

–Kevin J Flors

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Photograph from Pexels

Abandonment and Dejection

Abandonment and Dejection

Abandonment and dejection,

A boy’s name,

Desired more times than death,

More times in death.

 

Fermented in a bar,

With enthusiastic gullet.

How great grapes so hallow,

Transform one so hollow.

 

Little passion ever seen,

Showed its face in torrents,

Bony, but bellowing,

Desperately hanging.

 

Man was no medicine,

Nor was a muffled moonlight,

Nor a yearned sensuality,

Nor the coveted wine.

 

Sailors bunched around a bonfire,

Salt kindles a foul smell,

Engineered hands built to slave,

Built to hold.

 

The joined act of lasting,

Of loving,

Of losing,

Of still holding.

 

–Kevin J Flors

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Photograph from Pexels

Red Pins

Red Pins

Hailing reigns sharpen his mind.

Amusing deconstructions of the Word.

The clandestinity of the cumulus.

What paltry its nimbus resembles?

 

What mindfulness we don’t own?

Smallest egos amongst the sheep of the conceited.

Excommunication of the heretics,

A banishment praising our synthetic lords.

 

Shallow are the shores of our capacity.

Our mind formed by the Baker.

Needed are our wants.

A wanted silence envelops the kneading.

 

A candid kingship, mercy does not know.

Salivated hunger pains the belly’s flame.

Lustful journey’s romance with torture,

Never ceases in congregation.

 

To question the capacity of power.

The seeming unattainability of it.

The obstacles we burn to breathe it.

What futility it bears?

 

–Kevin J Flors

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Photograph from Pexels

 

Futility

Futility

Birthing mandates depression,

Sinful monsters directing films,

For our eyes cannot be stopped.

 

Looking for answers,

Lost in lust and greed and family,

Responsibility never slumbers.

 

The name of our desire is Waning,

We will all die before he,

He will tease us into believing.

 

They only speak in exploitation,

Don’t bother learning it,

You were born to never understand.

 

Minds play a king of deception,

Besides the two my mother gave me,

I’ve lost all my hands.

 

Personifications of sound.

What really is a voice,

Without a gilded crown?

 

A wise man once said,

He was the leader.

Following defines our nature.

 

Comatose defines our coitus.

 

Complacency defines our torture.

 

— Kevin J. Flors

 

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Photograph from Pexels

Alienation’s Bellow Cries Death

Alienation’s Bellow Cries Death

Alarming bells’ counting daze,

Entrancing followers’ gilded hearts.

Illusionary jungles kill lions.

Monarchical nihilism overshadows persistence.

Quickly reins shake tyranny,

Undress vixens worriedly.

Xerxes’s yielding zeal.

 

A broken clock doesn’t

Entertain fathers. Grieving homes.

Intrusive jingles. Knives lunging.

My neck opens purple,

Quivering. Restlessly stoic tumult.

Unheard vehemence withers.

Xenolith’s youth zombified.

–Kevin J. Flors

 

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Photo from Pexels.

 

 

 

Inevitable Lateness

Inevitable Lateness

 

I now understand,

 

My mother’s indigestion of stress,

Spat out in undesirable forms,

A bullet aimed at our apathy,

Its journey never short.

 

The dependence of alcohol,

An escape from skeletons,

Walking skeletons,

Or what feigns natural.

 

My father’s infidelity,

Disintegrating pathways.

The artistry to combine,

The chemical with the physical.

 

Smokers,

Burning their lungs and nerves,

Curing combustible flames,

When water fails to salve.

 

My mother’s anger,

Her sadness,

Nervousness,

Loneliness.

 

Depression.

Late shipments of reminiscence,

Of overbearing failures,

Of regrets.

 

I now understand,

 

All the forgotten dreams,

Floating in stagnant wells,

Incapable of rippling,

Pressured by an unbending mold.

–Kevin J Flors

 

 

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Photograph from Pexels.