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Cat on the Shoulder

stream of want thoughts (high on coffee)

Posted on 2008.09.10 at 15:57
Current Location: Golden Roast
Current Mood: awakeawake
Current Music: Amelie
I want to make things.
I want to sew and make those sorts of things and
I want to put a bunch of soft drink bottles together and run them all up the walls and they will be full of all the yarn I possess and it will be a magnificent tribute to the arts of knitting and crafting and organization.
I will be a unicycling goddess! but I must combine this with motivation because I have not unicycled in o so long. I am lazy. I must also combine this with clarinet or with accordion. With clarinet it is iffy because if I fell I could impale myself. that would suck ass.
I want to play virtuosically on the accordion. modestly virtuosically. but I must combine this with motivation and practice. I am lazy.
I want to tango like a hooker and play tango with a group. we will be amazing and call ourselves Salvador!
I want to dance like someone from the era and I want to be the best of my gender.
I want to break dance and hip hop and routine after routine memorize them all in seconds and know them forever. I must learn first though perhaps.
I want to pole dance. It is beautiful and I will be beautiful doing it. I want to have money so I can learn these things and so that I can purchase a mobile pole and install it in my room. I want to grow my plants better, because they are wilting and every fallen leaf chokes me up a little. I want a pond in a bucket. It will have one fish because one is the loneliest number but also with the most possibilities of introspection and shit. It will be one goddamned intellectual fish. fuck the philistines!

Cat on the Shoulder
Posted on 2008.09.07 at 18:17

ink legs

More Chapters!

Posted on 2008.06.03 at 01:49
Current Location: my place
Current Mood: drunkdrunk
Current Music: The Race
Chapter 3Collapse )

Chapter 4Collapse )

Chapter 5Collapse )

crop eyes


Posted on 2008.06.02 at 00:19
Current Location: in the blue room
Current Mood: draineddrained
Current Music: I Vespri Siciliani: Mercè, Dilette Amiche
I love the walls in my house. They are red or they are blue or they are a dusty rose color. They are tall and they are decorated with pictures and shelves and various candles in candle motifs, but there is one room where the light goes out often and the walls are only white. Its okay though, because I just keep that door shut.

Cat on the Shoulder

Caribbean Nights

Posted on 2008.05.28 at 11:54
Current Location: St. Kitts
Current Mood: satisfiedsatisfied
Current Music: CocoRosie
Tags: , ,
Seeing the stars so brightly, and all moving with the clouds- white. White and not dark blue against the black. Honestly moving, revolving around me (in a non-narcissistic way), and none are a constellation I know. I don't feel anything but familiarity here. A different culture with different food and different stars, smelling slightly of salts and sticky; the breeze is more of a balm than the bathroom after someone's taken a very long shower. I do not feel alien here or anywhere now but home. I feel that my life will be motion and difference (not as in 'to make a difference', but to always be different in location and mentality), and I think that I will know personally all of the constellations.

Cat on the Shoulder

Like a Lobster

Posted on 2008.05.27 at 08:24
Current Location: St. Kitts
Current Mood: boredbored
Current Music: Amelie
Sleep today. If it could be that- the interrupted sleep of a thing too pink to move without a groan. A new clam- who's shell does not save it from the tyranny of that one bit of sand, fragmented and edged so that its shards are cutting glass- the sensitive pinkness, defense-less to its torment. A lobster- stripped of its skin, pre-expiration, not on the plate. A conch, shell-less, exposed, raw. a sea-cucumber, washed to shore, prodded, left too long in the sun and oxygen until its fat potato-like body turns inside to out and melts away to a puddle or else expands and explodes with an excess of gloop- to the glee of the children with the prodding sticks.
Yesterday was perfect, what I would imagine a caribbean day should be. I slept in the sun, "protected" with layered greasy sunscreen. I turned once or twice for the benefit of the tan. I walked a ways with my mom and found a liquor bottle which I kept, and later a conch with still an inhabitant which I left alone, inching through the surf. I walked also half-way to a store that was closed and, once back at the Marriott Vacation Club, bought a necklace from a local's stand with half of my allowance for here, all that I will spend, so that next week, I can entertain my guests. Finally inside, I took a shower, changed, and dinner- Serendipity's (noun: The occurrence or development of events by chance in a happy or beneficial way.) looking out over the lights and the peer, of the real of St. Kitts, the shacks and the slums (the Marriott Vacation Club hardly counts for real life here.) The lights were small- they were mostly from windows, but the size and so many made it mirror the sky so that everything from that height to down to my feet, if I should choose stand out there, would be only stars and maybe a stray dog. It was beautiful and a perfect day, except today I sleep and read and cannot go out because I am now lobster-like in complexion and more than stung by any sort of motion. Damn Melaleuca company and its fucking defective SPF 30 water-proof sunscreen. It maybe water-proof, but it certainly does not repel sun.

black and white....a little emo

Flight DL573 from Atlanta to St. Kitts

Posted on 2008.05.26 at 17:12
Current Location: St. Kitts
Current Mood: apatheticapathetic
The opera in my ear is alternately too loud and too soft. It is the music from an opera that I have yet to see, though it sounds familiar- longing, melancholy- so apparent in the foreign words of the heroin of the play. It is more than just a general familiarity, so I think it must have been on some soundtrack to some chick-flick I have watched. Not "Pretty Woman"- that uses some music from La Traviata. Not "Moonstruck"- that uses the score from La Boem. This piece is by Puccinni; maybe it is him and his fame and reputation that is the familiarity link. The woman is singing a plead out to her father, asking him to let her marry her love or else she will fling herself from a high and prominent landmark. I do not foresee a happy end, though I don't know really- I have not seen it. But it is an opera, and I think that by presuming that it will be depressing, I am not really going out on much of a limb. I think that at the beach, on the island, I will draw also- in addition to writing and to reading. I feel like observing detail and recording in all the ways I can- observing, making observation, from every angle available to me. With words and vocabulary and affected thought, and with experimentation and with squiggles and with shadows that aren't there. I always have to draw lines I imagine, or shadows that I feel are necessary- that I have to make up in order to finish with a more realistic portrait. Maybe it's a sketch....I mean stretch (haha).....but, maybe to seem more real or natural, we need some fallacy after all. Maybe seeming real is inconsequential but, I think it's a step, if not the whole kit and kaboodle- pardon the southern jargon.

the oblivious accordionist

Flight DL1611 from Knoxville to Atlanta

Posted on 2008.05.24 at 22:19
Current Location: St. Kitts
Current Mood: apatheticapathetic
Current Music: various Yann Tiersen
Tags: ,
Looking out of the window, I cannot begin or try to estimate the number of miles up I must be. And farther now because, at least from this seat, there are only clouds visible. They sweep under us and we sweep over them. Our shadow lags a little- recoiling from our flying grandeur- clinging to the wisps as we waltz her away: a mutual sabotage- parasitic romance. The clouds, sweeping, remind me of the wind and the top grains- loose grains- of sand on the beach. Maybe they will be there on the island, St. Kitts. I don't know; I have not been there before this, though I would imagine it is much the same with most beaches in most places- island or no.
Now the clouds are still; we are farther away. The procession of the flight- altitude- has been taking more and more away- again, like the wind pulling at the loose grains. First, after take off, there were hay-bails below, and green, and devisions where the land changes color. And I thought it was so beautiful- that from that exact distance, with the light the way it was, and the angle of my eyes to the sun, and the sun to the land, and the reflections from the clouds, that, seemingly resultant of the perfect alignment of these conditions- pieces of the landscape below appeared fogged or smudged- like looking at a painting with only one contact in after wearing both of them days and nights for most all your life, because your vision had been prescribed to be fairly bad at an early age and was predicted to only decline with the growing of years until the eventual laziness and marriage into wealth would give way to lasic surgery.
Even so, I felt less flawed- that even the earth was smeared. A painting that- maybe a mover, handled-and only just an edge of it, and only just between museums- and maybe had brushed up against with a clumsy shoulder- wiping slightly away the detail of even just that sliver into this accidental state of near semi-oblivion. The maybe mover would lose his job and nothing of the smudge would be appreciated by either museum. My "art", maybe, would have more of a chance than the masterpiece with the smeared corner- ruined forever- irreparable. This is just the way things are.
Then I noticed my window was dirty. On the inside- a literal smudge where some previous airborn child, hugged close by its mother, flailing vainly in her huge lap of monstrous thighs, had pressed its snotty nose to the landscape- fogging with its breath, some slight slivers of hay-bails, or greenness,or devisions where the land changes color but not composition- the child must even have known that.

rainbow hand

Me Right Now

Posted on 2008.05.11 at 20:47
Current Location: The heart of darkness (not really- the power's just out)
Current Mood: blankblank
Current Music: Yann Tiersen
Tags: ,
The power’s gone out again; its been off and on since I got home around 5:30.
I was trying to watch “Pretty Woman” but decided to tune it out instead. I wasn’t really watching it anyway, so I’m not too upset about the power.
I lit some candles (3 instead of the usual 20 or so) and I like the affect they are having on my mind. I was already a fairly upset, because Andrew just left for her place, so that helped it as well. I can stand me right now.
There is a mostly empty box of Captain Crunch propped up on top of the couch- right at eye level (my left side). The candles are a bit lower on my right. They are faltering a little and The Captain is beginning to achieve the sort of facial shadow that only three-demensional beings in motion can attain. I am proud of him and the thought in general. Across from me there is a rubber tree. I have not gotten around to putting it on the porch yet. I guess its about time. The weather is nice. I bet it would like it. I’m such a bitch. Anyway, it sits there now in the dark and out of the corner of my eye, wile I type, it has become a zombie, holding a camera, trying to figure out the picture taking mechanism and in doing so, accidentally taking pictures of the ground in front of him. I think his name would be Mearl- if he existed. Is being undead existing though?
-And that is me right now.
The ed.
Not end.

ink legs


Posted on 2008.04.17 at 14:51
Current Location: Panera
Current Mood: cynicalcynical
Current Music: Dear And The Headlights
Tags: ,
I think the people in my poetry class think I'm angry and unstable. They, I think, would be correct.... though I'm definitely NOT a danger or a threat!!!- (just to clarify). I just.... I think I have a meanness/ anger problem lately :^(
anyway- I can't seem to title this one. I have no intension of copping out and calling it "I Want..."- bla.


I want the little girl
in the back seat
of that blue-ish car
to stop looking at me,
or I want her
to look at me better,
or I want her
to look at me like
she would look at anyone else
who didn’t look
like I look now.
I want her to smile a little
in the back seat
of that blue-ish car
wile she looks at me.
I want her to stop
looking so pitying
-so concerned.
I want her to stop looking at all.
I want to wipe her face clean
and start over with her.
I want to wipe my face clean
and start over with her.
I want her to not be so goddamn smart.
I want her to not know so goddamn much.
I want the little girl
in the back seat
of that blue-ish car
to stop looking at me
and mind her own fucking business
and let me drive the rest of my way home,
pissed off and hung over
-unlooked at.

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