Complicated grey matters

Laugh in the wind I think screaming into a pillow
Make it right
Don’t leave me hanging
Squeaky matress frame your lashes frame your eyes just so
Kisses seeking mystery
Never seeing just ahead blinking candlelight driven insanity
Feeding off the innocents in droves
Contemplating their denial
Pretentious prose
Speak not to the jester, I jest, speak at will
Broken machine
Tiny circuits not so complicated
Smashed against the pristine wall
Bleeding nuts and bolts
Machina, je taime.
Or I did.
Was that the last time I ran my fingers over the raised surface of your mouth
You let me down.
Just because you cannot feel doesn’t mean you couldn’t have feigned some sincerity for my sake
And yours.
Ignore the first ten lies. The rest are truths, yes?
With all your knowledge it should be fairly obvious.
Point me the way to your salvation
Tell me how to save you from yourself
I’d rather be a sloth
Than deal. With you.
Too much to bother with you poor manipulated bastard.
Let us hope for the best lest the best is like all the rest.
And scene.

Doe eyed insomniac

She is angry. Most of the time. The anger is deep and long like a drag from a clove cigarette.
She broods bored in the corner of the bordello.
Tick tock. Wait. Loud noises.
Alarm clock is like a gunshot. Waking the curious monkey she so admires and desires.
He leaves as she lays on the bed. Lays there all day, cripple with neuroses.
Check the doors and check the windows. No loud sounds here, no sir, not a sudden movement for miles.
Her perpetually tangled mass of dark hair is falling in her eyes. She tries not to miss him. She thinks it is silly. She steals his melted blue pillow, breathes deeply, sleeps.
Later wakes up. Loud noises.
Goddamn blue screen. With it’s whirring and humming, not thoughts at all, clearly. She sighs and curls her toes at the thought of dragging that dread machine to pimpled teenagers. Afterschool nerdery–I’m grown! she says. This is my job, she says.
Put to shame. Damn.
Boom crash smash. Loud noises. Go inside already. Grow up, she thinks. She peers out the window cautiously as if the tiniest sound or motion would open the gates of hell upon her.
Can’t stop thinking about things that needs to be done, of course only crippling herself further.
This is not me.
I belong behind a camera for a reason. I can see you but you can’t see me. You see yourself when you see me, you see what you want to be. Hate to dissapoint. Story of my life.
I love the V shape on his pelvis. I yearn to trace the lines.
I never had a favorite sports team, so I said the Dolphins, because I like dolphins. How was I supposed to know Dan Marino was an ass? I just wanted to fit in.
I’d rather not grow fingernails or toenails as long as it wasn’t raw underneath. Sometimes I think a good burn would change the condition of the nail beds, thus making it possible to have nail-less fingers and toes.
Yeah. I know I’m weird.
I drowned a bug and now I feel bad. It was in my territory, my bathroom, my sink. But I’m sorry you’ll never live again in that body. For what it’s worth I’m sorry I’m a killer of your kind but your kind is a bug that scares me. And you were kinda in my house.
I’m glad women don’t often grow bald the way men do. As if they really have a pattern, previously covered by thick manes.
Condition your pubes. It’s worth the trouble.
Is it really a mess if it’s all recently purchased and especially interesting?
Electromagneticexercise. Electro abs.
Insomnia causes a lot of grease I think. And grief. I should read a huge book every night. I’ll get sleepier sooner.
Why do I feel so crazy…
The zips and zooms and bams and booms run my life. Her life. I think sometimes to myself, “self- if only you could stop seeing yourself from the outside, you might even be well one day.”
Hmm. I’ll just go strum on my daisy banjo singing Blessed be can you see can’t you see?

Fuck i lost a post

Shit. It was eloquent and perfect. I suck.

New dada fun for all- a smalle collection of my non poems

-coming soon…

Me?

I’m a Jack of all Trades – My wings have spread!

I always worry that my mom thinks I’m capricious. That in my journey in finding myself, the things I’ve needed along the way for creativity were lost or unused. I kept thinking there was just one outlet, one form of art, that I had to pinpoint it and use only it or mostly it. Recently I realized something though. I am every form of art. My obsession with computers and programming is only one thing, as is visual art in it’s various mediums, as is the written word, as is my attraction to Do It Yourself (DIY) projects, and I’m lucky to have an amazing capacity to learn new things both quickly and in many areas. Now this makes me look capricious, but I never run out of love for the things I’m not currently doing. I have so many ideas, I don’t have enough time. Over the past year, I’ve been gathering all the tools I need to spread my wings. I’m almost done gathering, and I’ve got more ideas than I know what to do with. I’m so lucky to have all these wonderful things to help express myself. I have ideas for sewing, I want to sew curtains for my room, patchworky ones. They won’t cost much and they will be more original than anything you can buy at the store for twice as much. I have a digital camera that I’m in love with, it’s in perfect harmony with my BELOVED laptop, and I have found the most willing subject that needs to know there is beauty in her – me. I am my own art, I take pictures of me and I fuck with them, but only artistically, never to change anything aesthetic, and it makes me feel better about myself. I got a cheap but functional webcam that I tape myself venting and I can see myself on the computer screen as I’m doing it and I feel better, as if I have just cried on someone’s shoulder, and again it’s ME. There’s gonna be a rainy day soon, when it gets a little cooler out and the leaves start to fall, that I am going to sit on my back porch and learn to fucking knit. And I’m going to make something that no one could get practical use of. And I’m going to cherish it. I’m going to stop viewing my bizarre sexual orientation as a curse and instead pay homage to the female form as I see most fit – sketching. I used to draw women all the time, not in any crude way, but in a way that I was quietly worshiping an unknown goddess. When no one’s around I am going to play my flute more, and belly dance even if people are around. Fuck em. The only things left on my seemingly endless list are 3 things, 2 that I’ve wanted for many years and 1 that I wish I didn’t have to buy. The two- a camcorder. My friend Erik and I were discussing all these ideas we’ve had for short films and he views things like I do, and I’ve never done any kind of collaboration, but I would with him. I want to film the things in life nobody pays attention to and I want to make subtle videos of political things. I have this idea of dressing up in a hospital gown, wearing a Nixon mask and combat boots, and being filmed walking up hills. It’s the futility of politics… or is it? I love that idea, came up with it all on my own. It’s patented. There is Youtube.com, I can post my videos there and get feedback and more. People can actually get somewhere these days with sites like that. It’s amazing! Second is an acoustic guitar, but that’s not UTTERLY necessary yet. Third I want to get Justin a cheap printer so I can move mine in here and make more art without having to go in there and unplug it. I’ve been learning about computer programming and the more I learn the more it makes sense to me. I genuinely enjoy it, I think it’s fun figuring out problems like that. And THAT is how I will make a living. I always had it wrong all these years. EPIPHANY: I don’t need to sacrifice my life to a job I’ll hate and try to make art on the side, or surrender my funds to be a starving artist. I can make really good money programming, which I like, and then have a load of spare time to make my art. That is how I want to live my life, I’ve never been so clear. I don’t need to revise this and weigh it out because that’s all I’ve ever wanted. I feel like I’ve found a place in the world, no matter how much shit happens, I think I am getting to know who I am. I kind of like me.

Am I flying yet? I can’t wait!

The tools for my trade… or whatever that phrase is:

Goodnight!!!

-kayt

Crosses and Veils

Why are people so frightened by Islam? Why is it only Islam? Where did this fear come from and why do Americans cling to it so?

They are scared because they are merely educated by their own selective devices. It’s only Islam because the average angry WASP isn’t going to dare to turn that giant mirror back upon themselves. The fear is from 9/11 and it remains because we have doubt. We don’t know. And we only believe the most extreme versions. There’s evidence to suggest it was indeed an inside job, what with the detonations on the lower half of the second tower, but it’s not enough to fully convince me. However if it were uncovered total anarchy would occur in this country, eventually leading to a reform of dictatorship. I don’t want that. The problem here is, when I see a dark skinned person, perhaps of Arabic descent, I don’t get scared. I think they’re scared. And why wouldn’t they be with Americans hunting them down? Grouping isn’t going to get to the root of any problem and I get scared for the future of this country if we can’t understand racism is so prevalent.  It’s more prevalent in society today than I think it ever was. The races have expanded, and now everyone different is bad. Not just whites being the assholes, believe it or not. We make assumptions, about a group of people, without even thinking, and that is indeed dangerous.

I can’t see this world surviving if we can’t learn to trust one another and embrace different culture. But we aren’t talking. We’re bombing. I’m only losing my generation to Vietnam Version 2.0, but do forgive me for whining.

~she~

Unequivocally the best dream ever

Charming picture isn’t it?

This is fairly irrelevent in the grand scheme of things but I’ve had the most wonderful dream ever. Last night, or day rather as I’m quite the nocturnal soul, I dreamt I was still stuck in high school and was waiting outside on my skateboard for a ride. And then randomly Paris fucking Hilton comes over to me and says something in that dumb fucking voice. Said something vapid and absurd, and before I knew it I was beating the ever-loving shit out of her. She was whimpering and I kept laughing maniacally, as if I really had a score to settle, as if I didn’t just think she was an annoying twat. I picked her head up by her hair and bashed it into the pavement and then into my knee, and then stood up and kicked her until she limped off. I laughed and lit up a cigarette, perching casually on a brick ledge that was simply meant for gloating mentally over bashing the shit out of some spoiled rich bitch. Then Nicole Ritchie came up and asked me where I got the scratches on my arm. I looked down to see struggled scratches and red marks all over my arms and some on my legs. I laughed it off and said, “I beat the piss out of Paris Hilton and I could snap you like a tree, so get the fuck out of here before I do it you motherfucker!!” And she ran. Then I woke up and smiled, wondering where all that animosity came from. Not able to figure it out quickly enough I curled up with my gigantic stuffed lion and wondered if I read too many gossip rags.

~she~

Wake me up before you go

You ever wondered, at a happy pivotal moment, where you’d be in a year? In a fleeting kind of almost pained way even, I have wondered. I have thought to myself, ‘If I could just freeze this moment for all of my life, I would be fine.’ A year ago I wondered earnestly if my life could get any better. I had gotten out of a bizarre and no longer fulfilling relationship and into an intense, almost spiritual, relationship with my best friend. This best friend and I had been secretly in love for quite some time and coming together was like the culmination of what I felt I was meant to be. I was watching Firefox one morning that looked quite a lot like this one, and he fell asleep in my arms. I’m watching it again now. I would have wondered where I am now, and I think I could rest comfortably knowing.

We moved out together, into am unnecessarily large two bedroom flat in his hometown. He was twenty-four when he moved, and it was from his parents’ house for the first time. I felt so honoured that it was with me. We have lived here for almost a year. The mornings are beautiful with the forest, a thick lush playground, behind us, and the bustling street full of laughing, crying, innocent children. The air is polluted, this I know, but it feels like I breathe in life each time. I quit smoking after six years of it, and I feel healthier already. I got a car and my long awaited driver’s license. I got a tattoo, the triple goddess symbol, bold black on my right forearm. I’m probably dragging my sorry ass to college next semester. I’m reading, I’m writing, I’m learning. I’m ok. Nobody’s ever just great. But I know I have it better than a lot. I’m young and in love. It doesn’t so much matter what my father did to me or that I led an adolescent life similar to a Lifetime movie of kids gone wrong. I feel so bloated from quitting smoking, I’m tired all the time except when I should be sleeping. Times such as now. I should be totally asleep. But fuck it, ya know? I’m me again, I was lost for a couple years. I’m still that punk who can pull off any look I want and drop shit whenever I feel. Does that make me an asshole? I still smoke pot and drink wine straight from the bottle as I wonder around topless through my apartment. I can still give my boyfriend a lap dance and not feel weird or ashamed. I don’t care that I have a Canadian accent, or that my eyes are never green when someone points it out, or that I never have any underwear. I have given up on the silly goddamn labels. I’m not a punk or goth, I’m just me. I’m bisexual. No one ever said I had to choose, I’ve chosen a mate that happens to be a boy, but I never forget that I’m not straight. I don’t care anymore what people have to say about that because it isn’t the general publics’ business what gender I prefer to bed. I value my worth in how many movies I own and whether or not YOU have seen them. I’m silly and inconsequential. My blog will more than likely accurately represent that value of mine. Politics, random links, religion, pretty much anything going on in my life – I’m not too particular.

I’ll leave you with this, potential readers, my lovelies, I am a firm believer that there is beauty in everything and everyone. Something outstanding that beats out everyone else, something truly wonderful, is in all of us, and it’s always different. Well, except maybe Jerry Falwell, but he’s dead.

~she~

Narcissism makes me hot

Ok, so this is where I was going to enlighten you about me, a little more than that humorous about me I already put up shares.

The Basics 

I’m twenty-one, currently, I live in the south. I’m not from the south, however, so please don’t get the wrong idea and think that I’m a moronic sycophantic torch bearing republican who proudly displays her four teeth and overalls. I’m originally from rural Ohio. I have a slight Canadian accent that I find mildly embarrassing whilst surrounded by thick Tennessee accents. Also I say ‘whilst’ which pretty much sets me aside in society and everyone assumes I’m British. Not because I sound British or because I claim to be such, but because I don’t have a southern accent and I have a sizable lexicon. I’ve got red hair and hazel eyes. I’m of damn near direct Irish heritage, obviousy I suppose. My skin is pale as death and I get told to go outside a lot. But there’s cancer out there and I’ll have none of that. Speaking of cancer, I recently quit smoking. That sucked. A lot. I’m about 5′7” and I have no idea how much I weigh. According to those who see me naked, that being one person currently, I’m skinny. However I have this sneaking suspicion that he wants in  my pants, so let’s settle with average. Or slender. I’m a vegetarian but I occasionally crave filet mignion. I know my life was a little bit richer when I could smoke and eat meat. But it doesn’t really matter. I’m bisexual, the real kind. The indecisive, goes for the person not the junk, yes I’ve bedded both genders type pf bisexual. Hopefully that awkward run on sentence answers any and all questions about said sexuality. This can be a good segue into my next all important topic.

The love of my life

Yes, I’m young and I’ve already met the One. But he’s older so it makes up for it. I call him Yustin and that’s all you need to know about his name. He’s wonderful to me, we’ve been together officially for a year but we were in love the year before when we were best friends. He’s gorgeous, the kind of man you write poetry about as the light of dawn seeps in through the window onto his sleeping naked body, a poem of longing and beauty… wait, that would be a great start for a poem. I’m gonna have to use that. I’m really not kidding. But he’s amazing. He’s brilliant, and like all brilliant men, hopelessly restless. But never with me. He’s always been set on me as I’ve been set on him. He’s really into neuroscience and damn good at it too, and I bet nobody else’s twenty-five year old lifemate is. He also likes debating and if you ever meet him, which you won’t, don’t debate him because he’ll verbally run circles round you. We call each other life partners, the only reason we aren’t getting married is because people usually do it to save their relationships, while we choose each other every day – without the fuckin papers. We have a pictus gecko named Duke. We rock.

Jesus H. and the Politicians

I’m not Christian. That should be evident. I don’t think highly of them, but I know there are a lot of decent ones; unfortunately their voices are far quieter than those of the so-called “moral majority.” I think that organized religion is what’s destroying this world, if you look around, you might even agree. I’m not saying I hate Islam or Christianity as a group or even as a belief, but the crimes done in the name of faith are frightening. I am not an atheist however, even though I take a fairly atheist stance in debate. The reason for that is because when it comes to politics, politics are atheist. Atheist in this case meaning a- lacking theist-deity. I’m Pagan, with overall Pantheistic beliefs, and a lot of Buddhism mixed in. However this is hardly organized. I’m a liberal. Yeah, fucking shoot me through the bleeding heart. I believe in equal rights, gay marriage, I’m pro-choice, and I am firmly opposed to the war. Well, that last part is pretty common. After all that, I have probably weeded out all unnecessary right wing psychos.

How I fill up the hours

I always have the tv on but I don’t like much on. Current shows I watch are Nip/Tuck and Grey’s Anatomy. Quality, and both concerning medicine. Weird coincidence. My all time favorite show is Buffy. Best thing ever. Other than that I watch a lot of CNN because I am a boring yet overly concerned woman. I work out, new development, I’m going to four days a week. But that really doesn’t take up that much time and I don’t want to talk about it. It hurts. I listen to almost every type of music, except country, rap, and that poppy r&b crap. Oh and I hate emo. And fake punk. Maybe that narrowed it down a bit.  I like horror movies, comedies that don’t suck (basically I’ll fuck anything Judd Apatow touches), and dramas like American Beauty. I like philosophy, comparative religion, engrossing novels, behavioral study, most psychology, astronomy, crime files, and other shit like that. I think a lot. And I sleep even more. I think I’ll go to sleep right now. I certainly hope anyone reading this enjoyed this written display of self love as much as I enjoyed writing it.

~she~