k. william scott

K. William Scott.
Scottsdale, Arizona.


billy scott.
bill.
k.
the scoff (his coworkers)
william (his mother)


this is the man i must kill.


the K. doesn't stand for anything. it's one of those names. and it's never just a "K" either. it's got to be connected at the foot to that period.

"K.".

like that.



Germaine Street Pre-K.
Kelpville Elementary.
Kelpville High. (basketball team)
University of Illinois. (accountant/business classes)
Hilton Research Co. (consultant)
6', 173 lbs. 33. glasses.
mole over right cheek.
wife, daughter, dog named Sam.


every day that goes by is a day closer to when i will kill K. William Scott.


i've never met him.
i've never talked to him.
i don't even know why i need to kill him.

but i do.


and i'm so very afraid.
i laugh because you think it's your laws, your morality, your sense of stability and reason that frighten me.


i'm sorry to tell you but they don't so much as pose a nuisance, let alone keep me at bay. i could drive onto Red Valley Rd, park beyond the culdesac, walk onto 2119 Faulton Way, jimmy the side door lock, walk in, press 5119 (his and janet's birthdays), turn left, up the stairs and glide into the bedroom on the right -- careful not to step on the creak at the foot of the door -- and slit K. William Scott ear-to-ear before janet even had a chance to wake up and scream. keep on screaming.

i could.

but then what?

no, not the law. not justice. not reality. not guilt.





the voice.






what would happen to the voice?

the voice i've had since i was 7. the voice that kept repeating the name "K. William Scott" like some magic elixer into my ear....

at first i was terrified by the voice.

doctors. therapists. psychiatrists. pills. crying. fighting. mother. no father. couldn't concentrate in school.


no one could explain it.

no one could hear the voice but i.

and who in the world is K. William Scott?!
why in the world is his name whispered into my ear every. single. day?


and what did it mean?

was it me?
was i K. William Scott?


and then it happened.


google.


i was 21 years old and for a research project at school we were allowed to use internet search engines.


and there they were, my fingers tracing the letters, almost as if someone else were controlling them.

"K-.--W-I-L-L-I-A-M--S-C-O-T-T"

i found him.





but it wasn't enough.

the more i obsessed, the more the voice took shape, whispered into my brain.

hurt him.
stop him.
kill him.


and there it was.



i told no one.

i researched more and more. frantically, moving to Arizona. searching him out. following the trail of breadcrumbs left behind. always searching, always gathering information, always hungry for K. William Scott. i needed more. i needed to end this.

but then what?
why kill him?
who am i?


so many questions, so much doubt, so un....sure.....


what happens when i do?
would the voice go away?
would i be alone forever?
what was this? where am i?

the years were peeling away around me, i didn't know who was up and what was down. i only knew K. William Scott. if i lost him....if i finished my one mission.... what would....


is this true madness?









what am i?







i ordered another gin and tonic, using two fingers to massage my aching forehead, willing it all to swill away with the next drink. Jillson's was packed full tonight and when i got my drink i tipped her well. i wanted her to remember me and keep bringing them as i needed them. i sipped on the cool, soothing elixer, a touch of the honey-drunk buzz beginning to spiral in my mind while K. William Scott ordered his 4th Bud Light across the bar, clinking bottles with his friend Dave. all the while i watched.



like always, i watched.

sometimes there's a rhyme in my head

.... it's weird, i've wanted to write for days and days now. and days.

it builds up. words and thoughts overflow, get jumbled. soon, work intertwines, the days become nights, running and running, and before you know it:

it's payday
it's christmas
it's your second wife's third honeymoon anniversary
it's the holocaust chapter II
it's the last wednesday before you die (you do realize that day is coming, right?)
it's national pi day
it's that fucking ovaltine commercial again.

it's always.... something.






















and it really is. human memory chains us to tradition, to friendships, to dates, to anniversaries, to ideas, to relationships in general.

the longer we live and the more people we engage in, the more we're 'integrated'. the more we're 'connected'. the more we're 'stuck in place' on a social level. the more 'amalgamated' into families and dramas.

i'm not rallying against it or anything. but it happens.














down with society!
down with relationships!
burn the calendar!
kill everyone over 30!!




it's just a fact of life. and it all just seems so fast.

sometimes it's the 'in between' moments i love the best. sometimes it's when i'm alone, unattached to anything or anyone, that i'm free to just 'be'.

in fact, right now, when i'm finished writing this, i'll go for a walk and just smoke a cigar. just chill. jam out some tunes, maybe think a few up. get away from people, and twitter, and the internet, and my family, and my cell phone, and my dog, and my computer chair....

no one. no thing.

and i couldn't do it always. i do love people (sexually, if you catch my drift). and i'm not about to forsake all my human relationships and social statuses (sexual ones, if you catch my drift).














just sometimes..... there's a rhyme in your head. there's a beat under your feet. there's swagger in the air. you can taste the electricity, roll it on your tongue. starlight catches your eye. it's something......

well, you know what i mean.