This is the post excerpt.


Would I give up my torment for a better life?  Trade my constricted words for laughter at restaurants with jovial sorts with funny handshakes and antidotes about country life. I could chemically alter the color of my walls and meet a charming girl with a big smile and hearty laugh who will take down all my art, replace it with funny phrases painted on plaques made out of driftwood. She could lead my around by my thumb, put me in pastel shirts and feed me to a congregation of hungry Mexican food eating Presbyterians  with good intentions. Maybe I could work up to being a people person and start watching the weather, get a favorite sports team and have heated arguments with co-workers over draft picks.

Could I sacrifice my darkness for happiness? I could let my doctor have his way, cleanse my mind, lose Thomas Wolfe, the eternal quest for home, the desire to walk among the downtrodden, handing in my bona fides for junk food culture and political identification which leads to more arguments. Maybe I could just catch my breath, become acquainted with the recliner, let my troubles wash away, turn from the wicked, press my face against institutional carpet, let God’s mercy pour over me as I bask in the glow of chemically manifested nothing. They are circling me with lab coats, wanting to squeeze all the labored thought out of me, but what will I have left? I stand with darkness!

Jasper Kerkau

Author: jasperkerkauwriting

I am trying to write myself out of the darkness.


  1. I didn’t plan to sit here and read each and every one of these posts but I did. Damn Jasper– this is a staggering, soulful body of work. I would think that even if I didn’t know the back story for some of these pieces. I am so glad I read these while simultaneously feeling like I violated your privacy somehow. Do you ever go back and read your own work? There is an incredible trail of breadcrumbs here of all the places you have been over the last six months and where you seem to be going. I feel like going on this journey has changed me somehow. That’s how powerful your writing is. Please know that no matter how insecure I may get about my own writing I have a keen eye for the writing of other’s. You need to life the veil you keep over your mirror and see the sharpness and clarity and strength that is just below your surface.

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  2. Thank you so much for going through it all. I think it is a good exercise to put our work in its own space. It gets lost in reblogs. Eventually you should do the same. I lost so many of those in the sites. When I put this together, it was a revelation for me. It stung to read about the hopelessness and confusion of the summer, the despair of the pool party, the silence that was going to devour me. I feel like I don’t even know the person from those early pieces. We are all so blessed to have these experiences together. To share ourselves with one another. Thank you for reading and be a part of my experience. Forever owe you a debt of gratitude.

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  3. I really truly felt honored to go on the journey– to meet who you were and the depth of your pain before we met and to see who you are emerging as both as a man and as a writer. I sometimes think it was fortunate that I didn’t realize how staggering your talent is when you replied to my first email– I would have been far too intimidated to ever respond back. No one was kinder and more supportive of me when I first started to write again than you were. It is a debt I can not begin to repay. Somehow thank you ends up feeling very inadequate to say to you. Thank you for the gift of your mentorship and your friendship. In a way that neither of us ever expected when I sent you my little fan email you completely and unknowingly changed my life and brought people that I really needed– including you– into it.


  4. One night I died inside. Wrote “Writing isn’t going to save me,” and insidioustemptation chimed in with a comment that snapped me out of it. I wrote “I am a Fucking Writing” the next day. I wanted to quit ten times and then Georgia turned up and believed in what I was doing. Then Nicole Lyons! A guy name Olde Punk was floating around the same space. All the events seem to be connected. I talk about the hand of god even though I am not religious. It is inexplicable. It was was if this shit was supposed to happen. Early I pitched an idea most people would have laughed at and Rich said lets go to your computer and start it right now. Ran into Pat at a bar and he said fuck yeah. Christine Ray pops up and falls into place like this is exactly the way the gods wanted it, and it really has nothing to do with any of us. Max, Henna, Lois, Ari, Sam Lucero (the magician) we are all in bit players in something much larger and grander than any of us individually (Mick Hugh!). I feel you Christine. You are preaching to the choir. We ordained by the universe to sing in unison. I am blessed. It is so beyond us. Dennis, Sam, Max, Rich, Pat, Nicole, Lois, Georgia, yourself, and so many others seemed to be a collision course that none of us understand. Long live Sudden Denouement!

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  5. Finally made it around to your site man. This post is hauntingly “on time” a few years after it was written, at least for me. Wrestling with similar issues and your timber and strength in voice is a damning critic of the world weary skeptic who wants to crawl into the safety of paychecks and drudgery because they can’t take the heat anymore and are tired of the stinging sense of *insert qualm here*. There’s nothing wrong with that inner turmoil, have to view it as an exercise of profound purpose, somehow guiding us to affirm our truest identities. Pain is not the only lesson teacher, pleasure not the only acceptable deviancy worth pursuing. Fuck….sorry, think I’m using your words as a springboard to have an internal dialogue that’s bleeding onto the keyboard.

    Beautiful and poignant stuff brother. Beautiful.

    Liked by 1 person

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