Where I Live by Kiler Davenport

I try so hard to be me. I try so hard to be normal. I fight for normalness yet my background plagues me. All of the dead bodies that I have carried in my arms call out to me. They scream in their pain and agony. The dead babies that I have held in my arms, those sudden infant death syndromes. Those mothers crying 'is he alive, is he alive. can you get him back?' It is a plague upon my sense. It is a burning, searing fire upon my senses. Embalming all these bodies one after the other. Old men, young men, babies, the poor, the rich all lying there on my embalming table. Some scheduled for the crematorium to burn at 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit. Oh yes we checked them to make sure they are well done. We checked them to make sure their ashes will come out into our tray without bodily fluids dripping. Most of their bones falling on the floor of my crematorium to be swept up and thrown in the trash with the rest of the garbage for the day. The bell rings. It is another call. Another homicide. Another situation gone bad for someone. We get there anticipating, excited, elated. What will this scene look like? Brains on the wall. A bloated body left in the sun for three weeks. Blow flies the size of raisins. Body fluids dripping out in the floor running out into the street and into the gutter. This is the life of Kiler Davenport. This is my story, my plight, my calling, my existence, my consciousness.

Many of you ask me why are you so intense. Can't you just have fun with life? Can't you just sit back and relax? Why can't you be like us and piss away your time on fake book? Take your meds. Go see the doc. Stop taking everything so damn seriously.

So many of my bodies haunt me. They cry out to me. They ask me 'why, why did I have to go through this? what is the meaning of life? why did I have to be one of those stuck in a nasty black body bag with my fluids oozing all over the floor?' My little babies that I have held in my arms after I pick up from the morgue with my partner saying ' throw the little bastard in the back. with that sheet so bloody why would you want to hold it'. I say 'I love this little baby. This baby has a mama and a daddy. This baby didn't have the chance to get a good grip on life. So I am gonna get a good grip on this baby and make sure that this body is respected'. So now many of you will know why I am a talk show host. You will know why that I want to tell you my story. You will know why that I have such an urge to speak these truths that I have lived. I love all of you. I know that this is hard to believe in this digital fake book universe but I do love all of you.

We have such a short time to live, to breath, to be conscious, to be creative, to be sassy, to be violent, to be perverted. We have such a short time to see this illusive reality and this is why I am a talk show host. Come and join us. Come and be a part of this station. Come and be a part of this community, this collective. Let us shine. Let us prove to the world that we are the collective. We are the community. We can unify. We can be the collective. We can stand beside each other and fight this fight that is so important to all of us. Contact me. Contact the station. Support the station. Re-post our pages. Invite your friends to our special events and let us know that you care. Take care my friends. Take care.