An Interview with Karl Koweski

“Better that a man should tyrannize over his bank balance than over his fellow-citizens.”
-John Maynard Keynes-

The Maxims of Wall Street
Mark Skonsen

 

As a society, we’ve definitely lost our 1st class seating in the planisphere of apex evolution…

Some say I have a knack for foreshadowing. It’s a gift/curse thrust upon me by masters like Roberto Bolaño, Mario Santiago Papasquiaro, and Luis Roberto Borges. 

The smallest detail returns with a vengeance.

I try to keep this in mind when I walk to 7-eleven, but when engaged for small talk or someone wants to pet Misha, fuck, if they say stupid shit to garner attention, I’m on guard. 

It was around 8:00 pm, and I needed a pack of Lucky Strikes, green Swisher Sweets, and a honeybun/electrolytes. Across the street from the 11th & Ogden location is a campsite for fenheads and as I approached the entrance, a cadre of scorched earth walked in behind Misha and I. One asshole couldn’t help but be the center of attention and picked up a newspaper.

“Hey guys! We landed on the moon!”

Asinine fucktard, I thought, perhaps out loud, and tried to finish the transaction before my anticonvulsant dosage got the better of me.

“Hey, you have a cute dog. Can I pet him?”

“You can fuck off real quick.”

“Damn. Sorry I guess. What a dick.”

“I’ll eat your fucking soul if you don’t leave me alone.”

“Goddamn. Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I hate you, and everything you stand for.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“You want a scar as a reminder, motherfucker?!”

My bp was skyrocketing by this point. I woke up on the wrong side of the devil’s pillow. The fenhead kept staring at me and we exchanged heated middle fingers while I tried to pull my card from my wallet and pay so I could leave.

“You’re a tough guy, huh?”

“You ain’t met a motherfucker like me. Ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?”

He wouldn’t budge from his position next to the exit. 

“I’m right here if you wanna try something.”

“Oh, just wait. I got you.”

On my way out, one of his friends took a strategic stance between us and the asshole kept talking. I couldn’t hold back any longer and after exiting, seeing his close proximity hadn’t budged and his attention shifted toward my direction, I headbutted the plate glass window where his face was pressed and screamed like a man possessed by Old Nick.

I walked home with a possible concussion and shame for raising my voice and making yet another public scene with my ever-growing insanity.  

“When the body reads danger — whether from a raised voice, a dismissive tone, a particular facial expression — the prefrontal cortex, which handles nuance, empathy, and logic, goes partially offline. The brainstem takes over. You are no longer arguing with your partner. You are arguing with their threat response, and they are arguing with yours. The content of the argument becomes almost irrelevant at that point because neither nervous system is in a state to process content. Both are in a state of threat management.” - Anxiety Tips, Facebook

I'm not self avoidant, I'll stare into the hellmouth all day and pretend Sarah Michelle Gellar got my back. It’d make sense to have someone more like Jack Burton because you know what Ol’ Jack Burton says during a time like this:

Karl Koweski: Ol' Jack Burton says: "What the hell.”