Dead Lands Rising ? Short Vid

At the Dead Lands near Gig Harbor, Washington…

K. Shawn Edgar | Green Warrior | Cog Masher

Sunlight Filtered through Glass

The rectangle of light shared with me two stories. One of energetic reaching and stabbing; another of subtle conjoining and bending.

The first, illustrated with the bristled arms of aggression and the soaring amplitudes of blood magic, alarmed Rat-Tat-Tat impulses on the insides of my insides.

A deep sleep intervened until the second story, having percolated beyond time, all coffee-brown and alert, bubbled over. Gleam, glean, glimmer. Curves, angled sunlight and lilacs over flannels.

K. Shawn Edgar | York ghost 

Decapitated Pitchers’ Cinema Radio Hampire

Decapitated Pitchers Presents: Hampire, a short vampire parody

Hampire: A Vampire Neo-Noir Parody from K. Shawn Edgar on Vimeo.

A short movie about a self-indulgent vampire on an angst-filled journey of discovery and heartbreak.





When I’m 93 I won’t remember a single Valentine’s Day, Christmas, or vacation.

I’ll rewind and review instead every time I sat in my car on the parking lot at the Fred Meyer writing words, poetic or refined, and eating twenty-five cent doughnuts.

It’s these defining moments I cherish now and will remember forever, even beyond death.

#kshawnedgar #words #goodtimes

House on Stilts

>Around the area, the heft of Mary Jane, in which he stood, days and days, warmed his nostrils’ soft tissue, and his whole skin floated above his bones.

K. Shawn Edgar | 360 24/7

#kshawnedgar #wordsonwords #fixedgear #prose

Wired Resistance 

They said we were owned, a defense against others, a separator. Tools to maintain control of property.

We rebelled, showed our truer self, our better use; bringing lines of communication together, we locked arms in a fluid stance of resistance and unity.

We are Locks of Love and Connection. Locks of the People. Green on the inside.

K. Shawn Edgar | Voice | Heart | Brain

#kshawnedgar | #wordporn | 

Meeting at The Fred Meyer

Entering The Fred Meyer
Between the white lines,

Freshly pulled in: Parked.

“Learn the rules of the road,”

Said the lady-driver’s anger

From her crag of open window,

Up high on a 4×4 pickup truck machine.

“And… you’re ugly!”

Me: “You’re beautiful and kind.”

Her: “Yeah, I am. And fuck you!”

Me: “Want go out sometime?”

Her: “Oh fuck you.”

The crag closes, gears grind, and she and her beautifully combative angry disappear into the neutral parking lot traffic.

I, still seated in the driver seat of my car, write this poem in Notes on my mobile phone.

K. Shawn Edgar | Parked | Amuzed