the many adventures of kath

cliche

2012-02-13T21:08:00.001-08:00

i can't
i can't help it, my
heels over head, my
oh my
i look forward to
cinderella nights and
nietzsche days, all mossed
up with glass and
reality, both entwined
in legs and booze. you
who i love, and
you, who loves me...
let this be
this sunset on the 'rise...
the brilliant pink
do yet we see.
the sun, it sets, on
you&me.

~k.

mach

2012-01-28T15:55:00.000-08:00

here's to an endless
black hole, three
cheers for a morphine death
slide your way
through eternity and back,
i'm sure,
smile down (or up
or sideways or something)
on me, okay
smile down and remind
me of the quiet ways
you showed your love,
outstanding man, you
fly that jet plane
fly mach
fly for days, into
the sun and beyond.

~k.

elegy, interrupted

2012-01-26T07:59:00.000-08:00

and so it ends.

another chapter, the next great adventure, kicking the bucket... whatever you may call it, death is looming over our heads, all the time.

ahem. hold on, that was a little too melodramatic for 10 o'clock in the morning.

my grandfather passed away yesterday around 4:10 pm, next to his wife of almost 60 years, his only daughter, and his son-in-law. they said goodbye, they turned on the drip, and within an hour he was gone. just like that... one hour of morphine. imagine.

knowing that when that little needle begins feeding your veins minuscule droplets of clear, viscous death-liquor, you will drift quietly out of yourself; knowing that you have five minutes of savoring the final visual delights of these people you have loved and created and created lives for before you will never, ever see them again, but wanting it to be over because your organs are rejecting life so vigorously those visions are blurred by torture, sifted with white patchy pain stars from a four year battle with cancer; trying to gather the shifty images of the family that couldn't be there to say goodbye, the ones you wanted to shield from the ugliness and embarrassment of a strung-out and increasingly agonizing death.

and to let go... the beauty of absconding, of getting the fuck out of that cancer-baiting vessel. jesus.

the man hadn't had solid food in over a year, and little he had before that over the last four years he has vomited back up. he could barely walk in general, and even the 15 feet to the couch in the living room was exhausting to the point he would have to nap. and what for? to get up and go back into his bedroom again to change out morphine patches??

i called mom when i got out of work yesterday, and i knew when she answered the phone crying. we've been waiting. all of the family has been waiting to pick up the phone to the standard "crises crying" phone call, waiting and waiting and waiting and then when it finally happens it's like

BOOM.

and the people on the street slow down almost to frozen and the sun starts setting behind you and your heart drops an inch-and-a-half in your ribcage, and you want to reach through the phone to make your mother stop crying, to tell her how sorry you are that she just lost her father, the man she learned strength and goodness and quiet dignity from... ugh.

i sat down on a bench. hugged her through the receiver on my ear. searched for words to say to her that would give her some sort of strength, some glimmer of hope, some iota of comfort. but all that came out was "it's going to be okay". an oscar-worthy choice, if i do say. a real gem.

but - it's going to be okay. it all has to be okay, because death happens all the time, all around us. it seems a large majority to happen to somebody else. it's just that... to somebody else, we ARE somebody else, so there's that.

i want to love the minutes i live more... cause when that fuckin morphine drip gets you, it gets you. tip the cup to my grandfather, Thomas Raysor Risher; to your loving, dedicated family; to your allegiance to the united states and for the courage you deployed as a fighter pilot in the USAF; to everyone's life you made better just by being alive yourself...

we all love you and wish you the best on this next great adventure.

~k.

northwest

2012-01-16T03:22:00.001-08:00

but i promised.
no mention.
a friend, though?
really?
ugh. i did so good.
til tonight.

~k

12 hours

2012-01-12T22:40:00.001-08:00

these are the things no body says... i love you and i miss you and i can't wait til you're next to me. cause other than that, what do you have?

~k.

and another thing...

2012-01-05T16:33:00.000-08:00

all people can't be as brilliantly open as you, i guess... and when i say "open" i'm saying it completely sarcastically because there's no way in hell that you could possibly lecture me on being "open" and "honest" and anything else you didn't fall in love with me for; now you're angry and i'm sick of explaining it to you - and while we're on the subject who fucking says i have to tell you anything in person? i've told you like 85,000 times in person and YOU STILL DIDN'T GET IT so i figured a phone call would be just as effective, even though at the end of it you said "this is the worst possible thing you could do to me" and i was thinking, no it isn't. i could do much much worse, like i could have cheated on you or told you things like, hey, as a 28 year-old woman, the first gift you give to me probably shouldn't be a shot glass and a tourist t-shirt you easily could have re-gifted to a friend you hadn't see since college or your grandmother or someone you don't see every fucking day; or i could tell you things like, the honesty sure passed your tongue by when the topic of "love" or "goals" or "abortions" came up. no, it was all good on that front, wasn't it? but then i'm the asshole for trying to let you down gently and caving to "talk to you face-to-face" even though we had already had the same conversation three or four times before that but we insisted we could be friends but we couldn't and for some reason, i'm the one to blame.

someone call walter FUCKING cronkite... i can't accept full responsibility for the demise of our relationship because it just wouldn't be true; and even though i'm sorry i hurt you, guess what? take it away, mohandas gandhi... "nobody can hurt me without my permission."

i wish you never gave me permission.

~k.

7,000 wednesdays

2011-12-30T01:57:00.000-08:00

that word looks
as unfamiliar as
__________

mad libs
make for great
poetry.

~k.

one minute left til tomorrow

2011-12-23T13:27:00.001-08:00

sometimes, when i feel like everything in the world is smashing to the ground, i don't know which way i can climb down, and that my brain feels like it's trying to claw its way out of my skull...

i talk to some of my friends and realize that everyone is bat-shit fucking crazy. and it makes me feel like i'm actually pretty okay.

merry christmas.

~k.

life-tinsel

2011-12-22T16:14:00.000-08:00

the new year is once again upon me.

they are going by faster and faster, things don't ever seem to stop moving around me, i myself have seen how much i have moved over the course of the last ten years...

and i still want more. i see all of these beautiful things in the future... i see a new career focus and a new lease on life and love... i see my metabolism slowing down and my crows feet gaining momentum against the corners of my eyes.

i have seen love come and go, i have witnessed an entire career slide out from underneath my feet and replace itself all taped up back in my palms, i have experienced friends and the loss of friendship in the same...

another fucking year. still smiling, still standing, still swollen with hope. 2011 got me out of the rut of 2010. 2012 will be what catapults me into a whole new world.

merry christmas to you and yours, who, or what, ever they might be.

~k.

2011-12-19T07:34:00.000-08:00

CHRISTMAS SHOW IS OVER!!!!

and while it was tiring, i absolutely loved every minute of it. every dirty, offensive, un-PC second that it had to offer.

now it's time for sleep, and work.

yay. :)

~k.

a carrot for the horse

2011-12-11T09:45:00.001-08:00

that was my problem.

i saw potential.

one day... you're so much more... it will come...

hm. that's the issue with potential. it's not a real thing. it's like an "i'm sorry"... until something is proven it remains that single statement. potential means nothing the same way that saying "i'm sorry" over and over remains redundant.

you are what you are until you decide not to be it. so seeing "potential" is about as valuable as seeing a hundred dollar bill on the other side of bulletproof glass. the goal is so close you can almost touch it, see the little red grains floating on that minted green paper... but you are still a broke sap wishing you had that bill in your pocket instead of dangling in front of your face.

oh, well. i guess that's how we learn what we don't want, isn't it now. recognizing the difference betwixt potential and drive. ones a pipe dream, the other, a highway.

~k.

unknown

2011-12-05T08:12:00.001-08:00

"The fight is won or lost far away from witnesses -- behind the lines, in the gym, and out there on the road, long before I dance under those lights."

this just made my day SO much more beautiful.

thank you, to whoever said this.

~k.

without a 5 year difference

2011-12-05T07:55:00.001-08:00

congrats... she's really a beaut. let's hope the tragic downfall of your character will not supersede your ability to keep her for longer than a month.

i could say i'm bitter about what happened betwixt us, i could also remark on how i feel like it's all your fault and you never did enough and you cheated on me and lied to me and made me feel like i was the ugliest girl in the room cause how could you ever treat me that way when i had so many other offers i turned down on a daily basis and i could express that you never worked hard enough to get a job or keep one or buy me anything that was over the 5$ value meal price at wendy's...

but i was a drunk, and you were a kid, and now you found a pretty girl who's not one of my friends or ex-students to love and really, i'm happy you have. i hope you will take your mistakes and mine and run with that knowledge, so that you can have a relationship with someone that's not totally destructive and temporary. we were never meant to be, nor were you with the girls that you chose before, and i could tell always that there was something under the surface you held for this girl, so... go.

enjoy.

just don't fuck it up.

~k.

that's not how your fucking name is spelled and you fucking know it.

2011-12-01T09:11:00.001-08:00

one of the things that bothers me most about humans is the sense of entitlement they can achieve if they think about themselves too much.

you are not the best dancer of the group. you have missed my rehearsals in the past because you just didn't give a shit. and you do not know the intensity of my schedule, so you can shut the fuck up right goddamn now.

it's a shame you will never read this, because i just don't have the energy to let you know that your schedule and your life is no more important than mine, dear. i hope someone else will clue you in, because i simply could give two shits about you.

~k.

turkey totalis

2011-11-28T06:28:00.001-08:00

i had to say goodbye to my grandfather, for the last time, on friday.

it's so strange, to walk in to a place knowing it's the last time you are going to see someone. knowing they're not going to last the three week span until you come home again for christmas, the most times you've been back in a couple years to your hometown, much less a couple weeks.

i prepared myself for the worst, for the "walking skeleton" and "brittle-boned" man that my parents said couldn't even turn a door handle to get out of his bedroom...

it wasn't like that, because he couldn't get out of bed that day. he was too weak from the meds, to fucked up from the morphine patches he's started wearing because of the pain in his esophagus. so he just laid there on his back, head propped up on his hand backed by about four pillows (how very rubinesque, i guess), his wolf-blue eyes sliding in and out of our conversation. anything more that two sentences was too much for him to pay attention to, anything more than two words was too painful for him to say.

and that was that. i tried to make him laugh, telling him he didn't have enough pill bottles surrounding him, because making people laugh is the only thing i find i can do in situations like this, like death... it's like my brain just shuts down and the sarcasm sets in. but at least, he smiled. i had written him a letter, so i gave it to him, kissed him on the cheek, and told him i would see him when i came back for christmas.

we both knew it was a lie. but i think that's what he wanted.

i went outside and sat on his back lawn, overlooking a lake. well... not so much a lake as how it is described in the real estate booklet about the senior citizen development they live in rockwood, florida, more so a retention pond that overlooks the highway in the distance, but. whatever, they're old. they can't see that far anyway. i thought maybe it would be nice to buy him a cigar or tobacco for his pipe, sneak him away, and let him have one more smoke before he goes.

what must that be like? wanting one final puff of a pipe when you know it will be your last? hell. the man hasn't eaten solid food in months, maybe he would just like some of the turkey his family was able to enjoy without him the day prior... how could i be so delighted with thanksgiving repast when he was lying there, beginning the morphine "dreams of death", as they so lovingly call it...

it just seems so selfish to live when he's dying like this. and even though i know that's what he wants and it's the circle of life and all that other bullshit hallmark-card feel good quotations -

this life is so fleeting. even when someone dies a chronic death like his, someone who dies for years and years before they actually get put into the ground... it reminds us that this life, will in fact, soon be over. sooner than we think, and harder than we may feel it will be.

my thanksgiving was of celebrating my life, no matter which way i twist it. the goodbyes were just the evidence of that.

~k.

x

2011-11-19T09:36:00.001-08:00

things look so pretty
at 5 am, dripping
in lost pearls of wisdom
and waxing poetic...
the clear things like
"i miss you" and
"i wish we still talked"
are all the more clear
yet
but still i know
better. 5 am
is 5 am everywhere, no
matter what time it is.

~k.

the cuff

2011-10-31T00:43:00.000-07:00

ugh your genius bores me
i thought
sent-i-ment
may be the ghosts behind your bones
but it turns out
that livid feeling
is the bones behind your ghost
you talk pretty things,
things
that people sew into corsets
and other fancy
and glamorous things
that people want;
but i saw the sad in your eyes
and i know the
pedestal all too well...
it's lonely.
step down and swallow
it
before you turn into
something somebody forgets.

~k.

reprise

2011-10-28T12:23:00.000-07:00

i'm too cliche to write, today.

everything i've typed and erased is forced. my head is swimming with too much to figure out what advice i need to give myself, so i'm just not going to give any.

the show will get finished.
i'll make it to work on time.
my grandfather will die.
i will go home for thanksgiving, too.
christmas will come and i'll get that sad cold in my bones.
i'll stilt for a parade or two.
next year will be here tomorrow.
and so on.
and so on.

no advice. just stick to the schedule and life will happen as it should, i guess.

~k.

queen of hearts

2011-10-26T23:32:00.001-07:00

i.
can't.
wait.

but i have to, so i will.

but, universe, know this:

I DON'T WANT TO.

that is all.

~k.

riddles

2011-10-21T02:44:00.000-07:00

give me things i can't see; give me the words in between the lines. give me this, give me that, give me the dashed sentences in between "see jane run"... i don't have a good frame to work on, it's clumsy and it's frail, i would think it's more of a whisper or a web, than let it be a frame. after all this time and after all this life you would think that i would know...

eh. i don't.

my frame has grown weak with winds, and words just fester, swell.

~k.

danny boy

2011-10-19T16:33:00.000-07:00

i went to get a drink last night at a bar down the road from my apartment, just to sit quietly and let the long day of work and a stilt gig melt away...

no such luck.

as soon as i sat down, i got accosted by a drunk, foul mouthed dude in a dirty black polo shirt. he was rude and obnoxious, slurring to the bartender if they had any beer that was "kind of like blue moon, like you know, the one that's served with an orange?"

upon coming back from the bartender's suggestion that he look at the list on the wall behind the bar, and as said bartender was so graciously bestowing my whiskey-wine punch, he said to me, "well, i'm not going to buy you a drink, anyway, you never even told me your name. it's not being cheap, it's being fru- fru- frugal...", in between hiccuping what appeared to be beer bubbles that were just foul. just fucking awful.

it took seven minutes of him trying to have a conversation with me before i excused myself to go have a cigarette. seven minutes of inane gin-babble about how he quit his job and how he had been drinking all day and about how the neighborhood is nice but it's filled with too many "guineas" (which, i didn't know this but, it's okay for him to say because he's irish and the irish are allowed to say slurs like that to the italians cause they're enemies and everyone knows that)...

i had half a mind to kill myself while i was outside so i wouldn't have to walk back in from the silence of a cigarette break and hear his stupid, sloshy voice again.

i don't understand why people just can't leave me alone when i sit by myself at a bar. i have no desire to talk to you... and just cause i'm alone doesn't mean i have no friends... it means i probably just don't want to be around anyone at all, in general. otherwise, i would probably be around someone and not sitting by myself at a fucking bar.

it's not flattering to think that out of anyone at that bar that drunk, googly-eyed little irish man could have chosen to talk to, he looked at me and said, "now there's someone who i will have things in common with."

gross. i can't bring me anywhere. it leads to nothing i want. all the time.

~k.

cold war

2011-10-17T20:54:00.000-07:00

"now hang me up to dry
you wrung me out
too too too many times
now hang me up to dry
I'm pearly like the whites
the whites of your eyes"

bone on bone
sounds like paint
chipping off the side
of a house.
if i could wring
the you
out of me, we'd
be all set, then.

~k

the great lawn

2011-10-13T08:10:00.000-07:00

ah, the damp underbelly
of fall, yellow leaves
sighing their way to the
cold
wet
concrete, somewhere
deep in central park.
three falls round
and i'm still here, still
beating, in this
tiny apartment slash town
and, from what i can tell
it's impossible just
to slow down, just
for a minute or two.
the sunsets and
walks and
smiles and
lovers and
dancing and
whiskey and
painting and
waiting have all been
the cold
wet
concrete
under my feet, these
three falls round,
one foot in front
of the other, in front
of the other.
central park awaits my re-entry,
as i bait
the carrot in front of
my horse, to lure me back,
to say good-bye.
the first fall round
was too hard
on my bones.
but by
the last, i
think my
walk in the park
will be much lighter
than the first, saturated
concrete and all.

~k.

what's en VOGUE? fluff.

2011-10-12T11:36:00.000-07:00

i made the mistake of buying a VOGUE magazine before getting on the train after work yesterday evening. after thumbing through about 150 pages of ads, i came to the first article. seriously. i paid four dollars to look at pictures of models that are thinner, prettier, and more fashionable than i will ever be. i was searching in my bag for zoloft before i ever even got to the editorials.

when did magazines become such an inherent vehicle for advertisements? i mean, i know the lifeblood of the magazine comes from the investors of these companies selling their products, but, c'mon.

estee lauder.
chanel.
gucci.
louis vuitton.
dior.
estee lauder.
banana republic.
fendi.
dolce & gabbana.
lancome.
bottega veneta.
prada.
dolce & gabbana.
burberry.
david yurman.
clinique.
guess by marciano.
marc jacobs.
miu miu.
donna karan.
cartier.
st. john.
ralph lauren.
ralph lauren.
ralph lauren.
chanel.
bally switzerland.
valentino.
valentino.
valentino.
eres.
covergirl.
givenchy.
tiffany & co.
bulgari.
SK-II.
7 for all mankind.
hugo boss.
hugo boss.
covergirl.
jones new york.
laura mercier.
bottega veneta.
net-a-porter.com.
net-a-porter.com.
loreal.
dooney & bourke.

this is all before i ever reach something that has anything to do with the editorial recaps of what the magazine will be revealing to us. this is page 86 of the magazine.

when did things become so engrossed in fluff? these advertisements, they're really not even advertising anything at all. most of the pictures are taken of, like, a shoe heel next to a made-up eye of a model. has nothing to do with anything. you can't see the full shoe, or the full make-up of the model. it is an ad run for thousands of dollars in a magazine that is known all around the globe advertising nothing having to do with the product they're aiming to advertise.

is it art? oh, it must be art. it is a fully abstract photo kind of advertising something that has kind of something to do with fall. it kind of makes me never want to wear the partial shoe in question. not that i would ever be able to justify spending 1800$ on a pair of heels, ever. if i ever became wealthy enough to consider that option, i should probably just be adopting children like angelina jolie. at least it may save some shreds of my withering soul.

but it's everywhere, this fluff. it's sadly what art has to do in order to survive - get fucked. that magazine wouldn't survive without the hundreds of ads pumping hundreds of thousands of dollars into VOGUE. and what's ironic about this specific fashion magazine, one of the oldest and most stapled of the many that are out there, is that so much of the content is geared towards people invested in the arts. yet no artist i know, of the underground performers, the people who start these trends because of their freedom in themselves and of the corporate ties that would shackle them into dress suits and ties... none of these artists could ever afford any of these designer prices.

mainstream media doesn't help, neither does the american obsession with celebrity. what used to be an inaccessible lifestyle is now offered to the millions of americans who want to be included, albeit the fact that exclusion is necessary for a product to be wanted. and yet there it is - splashed on the pages of VOGUE, the clean lines of a miu miu heel, retail price, 850$.

that's my rent. to buy one pair of the shoes that are supposedly going to make me fashion forward in the fall is the amount is costs to LIVE IN MY APARTMENT. insane.

maybe i'm jealous that these people make enough money to buy these really beautiful things that i could only dream about. but maybe i'm pissed that the work that myself and all my friends do inspires the designers of these beautiful things is being used as a vein for their pockets.

for now, all i can do is read the two hundred pages of fluff and scoff when i uncover a single column article on the "new wave wing's of desire", feathered earrings and extensions a woman in california now makes for her jewelry line for appx. 300$.

i bought an even cooler one on the streets of brooklyn from a real-live street artist for 10, and i can also make them for myself for about that much as well. that designer is making a killing on chicken feathers. and she should be ashamed.

but it's art, so it's okay, right?

~k.

found time to shine (finally)

2011-10-03T12:33:00.000-07:00

there was too much
dust
in the corners. the scent
of cat dander and
dead skin cells resting
on chipped paint and bruised
paneling was too
much, too
present. hours of
hands and knees and
scrubbing and (please
don't think this is
actually
about my floors, now)
withered hands, pruned
by pine-sol-water, and
-poof-
no more dust. no
silvery strands of spider-spindle
or finger-printed walls.
erased the traces
and opened spaces, i
guess picasso would even
be proud.
fall is here, again,
and my mind feels so
damn
clean,
it squeaks.

~k.

happy

2011-09-29T07:36:00.000-07:00

fall is here.

i, for the first time since i moved from atlanta, have made a life-altering decision. i'm breaking up with ballet.

not everything about it, i still want to take class and love the art and above all i want to teach and own my own studio... but i can finally say after years of being bound to it, i am not a ballet dancer. i'm not - i haven't been for a million months. i walk around in a shell of what i used to be, and every time i say it out loud, i believe it less.

i want to teach.
i want to be married, i want to have kids, i want to do all of these things in a town that will allow me to do so without bringing my cat-claws to the table. because i'm tired; i'm tired of this lifestyle.

i don't want to keep living with my head barely above this new york water. i love this city, i do. but at what cost? does everyone who's an artist and not willing to brand their name to their ass struggle this much? are we supposed to love the struggle because the fleeting moments of beauty are too precious to ignore the fact that we can't afford to have things in our refrigerators besides soy sauce and a jar of pickles that your ex gave to you as some sort of compliancy gift?

i talked to my manager last night after we closed, just the two of us and a rat scrambling around on the floor of my restaurant. over wine, he asked me, "what is going on with you?"

to which i could only say, "i'm done."

i'm done. i'm done with men who think it's okay to slide by doing only the things necessary to retain a garden that grows one vegetable. i'm done with wanting to be prima assoluta... i have my memories and pictures from when i was young, vibrant, and at the top of my game. i'm done with needing to be this maintstream, famous person.

i just don't care anymore.

i want to have my own studio and give my love for movement to others... i want to study gyrotoniks and become a trainer... i want to have children and live in their moments and grow old with someone who can teach me how to be a better person all the time...

i'm lucky to have found the things i have in the past couple months. i feel like i have found my heart, which is quite possibly the most elusive things that i have been searching for, for years.

~k.

oella avenue

2011-09-27T23:24:00.000-07:00

a thought occurred to me,
which was,
"maybe i should write you a poem"
and then when
(as i'm doing it)
it happened
i realized, "oh,
wait, i write you one
every day"
with my skin, no
matter how often you
get to feel it
and no matter how
many hiccups i have
it still all means the same:
me, and
you.
it's a painting, a
canvas.
thank
you.

~k.

the 11th sucks forever, thanks

2011-09-11T10:41:00.000-07:00

to everyone affected by the attacks a decade ago (oh my shit, it has been that long, hasn't it), i can only say i'm so sorry for your loss. i was in college, in tallahassee, forever away from the devastation and destruction it caused this city i have grown to love so much.

i saw a movie a friend was in, about walking the city at night. the videography was stunning; the city was a character in the movie, millions of lit eyes staring out over the rivers and streets and it's inhabitants inside it's walls. it's lonely sighs as the night wore on, forever locked in the mystery of romance and intrigue of possibility for it's people.

this city is it's own person. it has provided the idea that things are possible since the dawn of it's first buildings and watched the years progress in it's rocking chair, watching over us like a cotton-soft grandmother drinking mint juleps and reminiscing of her past. i feel safe in this city, and i refuse to allow the disgusting decisions of a group of heartless religious sheep reshape that.

those people that tried to break new york and america by their cowardly actions of kidnapping innocent people on their way to family, business meetings, or vacation will forever get what is coming to them, in this life and after. one day, they will feel the towers coming down on them and the fear as their flesh burns and what it feels like to asphyxiate in poisonous gas. you will die a thousand awful deaths with those people's stolen lives over your heart, if indeed you have one, and if indeed other americans haven't found you yet.

retribution will happen.

but in the meantime, i lend out my heart to the people who have lived on in the wake, to the people who died trying to save the victims, and to the victiims themselves. i love all of you and i hope in some way, this may bring some comfort.

~k.

a very very private person

2011-09-07T11:33:00.000-07:00

if you don't like it
don't read it

~k.

memorial

2011-09-05T13:26:00.000-07:00

well, now i just don't
want to write today, these
words that
exist whether i write, or
not.
it's gloomy out, (but
it's a holiday! oh, boo)
and my temporary hideaway
has seem to worn
thin
as certain types of softened
skin. now,
i will do those things,
hold my tongue and
unfurrow my fingers from
one another. because after
all, a gloomy day should
have a little bit of writing,
though,
wouldn't you say?
so paper it is! to
pack away, to blur the
ink, to muddle it's voice.
i guess the words, they
get written somehow,
either way.

(happy. gloomy. holiday.)

~k.

it's gradual, i'll get there

2011-09-03T12:01:00.000-07:00

what's hard? thank you's are hard when you are biting your tongue but i'll try to mouth it out anyway... it's hard thinking you are too dumb to stand up for yourself, as beautiful as you are. and just thinking that, as i'm talking to you, because i think you're more, so much more than what you have presented to me as the school project. it's hard watching what you do to me when i passed you the other night on the street, i was in a cab and you were rolling a cigarette and time stopped and i couldn't believe my eyes even though my throat felt it; my throat knew what was up. it's hard knowing that you're living a simple southern life that allows you to be lazy and quote-unquote "successful" in you're own right; it's like that family guy when stewie says "the george lopez show only perpetuates that george lopez is funny" that's what i feel about you. your bullshit lies and blue-green eyes don't sweep the stupidity you've offered under the rug.and another thing. who tells someone that you're moving to the acrtic to basically show up on your doorstep uninvited, and all because you were "selling your truck" which i don't believe for a second because i don't believe any of the candy sweets that fall from your lips anymore, no matter how beautifully you try to adorn them. you with your nervous twinges and "secret" hinges, with the hands you so GRACEFULLY let down that day on the couch. you who came into my house and slept in my bed and listened to me love you for hours but when it came down to it, he was just too something to let go. i guess that makes me too easy to let go, too soft to hear, just all the bad "too"s that you could think of, that's what i am, i guess. you are selfish and your words were drenched in honey, the sweet NOTHINGS you let through to the other side of those swinging doors in italy. you taught me about leather, about what happens to it when it's not bound properly; the belt broke. so take that metaphor cause it is the best one i can compare to you and me. hmph. the other side of what? i'm saying as i look into my past through words inked on loose papers bound on a string (irony - that's how i feel about you and me too). the papers have started becoming unbound. so has my patience with you and with me for loving you so hard.you are a beautiful woman, but you're too weak to move (and i mean move not move, and you know what i mean).you're a talented man with no meaning; the one that made me cry, like for real cry, sobbing and heaving, ribs cracking.you have a mountain instead of a molehill and you're really not all that great but the bedroom walls loved us, the way i thought you loved me.you sing me whiskey poems and lure me to bed with perfume i can't somehow resist.you're a girl that refuses history, and puts cd's on repeat, even though the song is just awful.it's hard to see the things that make me sad for life so i'll show them to you so you can keep me company with what i think about when i think of you. and these, how i love to counterbalance and why you have made me feel what i do when i think about the things that make me sad... these, the ones what open me - walking in amber, drenched in dusk, staring into eachother with smiles brighter than colgate could ever imagine.how good the wine tasted when we were both in on the secret, how the rest of it stopped mattering the way it does now for some reason."this is my first time doing this, i hope you don't... um..." i said to you, into winter snow, warm with candles and youth and lust."this is my first time doing this, i hope you don't... um..." you said to me, mouth muffled in coves of sheets and humidity.his sickness wouldn't have been as easy without you, and i should say thanks at some point i guess, cause your misery kept me company.the snowstorm was magical, holding hands and finding our way between warehouses, trudging through and through.i love you. but i'm bruised, and you should know, cause i deserve you to. i'm sure my list is longer but i can assure you i have tried to bite my tongue and turn my head and hold my hands together when i talk and avoid your eyes or the thought of you near me or inside me and i promise that i will continue to do so cause when it comes down to it, you have inspired me and i have to thank you so i am even though it may seem like i'm not.but i am. thank you.~k.

tattooed

2011-08-30T13:27:00.001-07:00

i didn't ever even look at what ink saturated your skin.

now, upon closer inspection,

it seems you were a

distraction

to your art.

boring.

boring.

boring.

i feel like i've

seen you a thousand times

since way

back

when...

ink is such a temporary relief

to the reality of skin.

~k.

well, you were the one who signed the deed

2011-08-29T09:33:00.000-07:00

i lived in florida for the first seventeen years of my life. born in nineteen-eighty-something, i have experienced incredibly disgusting weather. during the summers, it has gotten up to 115 degrees in 100% still-dripping wet- humidity. it feels for most of the year that you are renting gum space in a gingivitis-infested mouth. then we get about three weeks of decent fall weather, a week at a frosty 54 degrees for our winter season, and then BAM summer is here again.

spring doesn't exist in florida. it has been phased out completely because really, it just got in the way and always copied fall. that bitch was ousted.

so anyway, because our prominent season, summer, ruled the place, he decided like the dick that he is that when he had to give way to fall, he would make sure that transition was something fall had to earn rather than just be handed to (he was technically the one who voted out spring due to the fact that she had grown tired of their relationship and was beginning to crush on fall, and summer got PISSED). and this is what we know of today as the southeast's hurricane season.

the atlantic's season began on june 1st, ends on november 30th. if there's not much activity out there, we get a lot of tropical storms and daily rainshowers. if the pressure systems are actively butting heads, they produce a hurricane. it's how it is, our hurricane days are comparable to the midwest's snow days, and yada yada yada... a downfall of living on a beautiful beach in charleston, south carolina in 1989 is

,

meet hugo. hurricane hugo. i had family who lived on the barrier islands for years, my great aunt and uncle. my uncle don loved crabbing and every time we went for a reunion or whatever we always got to eat pounds of crab. shit was good.

enter hugo.

do you see that??? those are sailboats on a house. SAILBOATS ON A HOUSE, PEOPLE. sailboats don't go there!! oh, and not to mention this...

doesn't look like those kids will be taking any "joyrides".

hugo was exceptionally bad, starting off as a category 5 and bouncing off islands from guadaloupe to puerto rico before making landfall on the isle of palms, south carolina. even though it had fallen to a category 4 by the time it hit it killed about 40 people and left 100,000 homeless. it was the most damaging hurricane at that time, causing 10 billion dollars of problems.

10 bilion. that's like, 17 billion nowadays, at least. that's like how much soderbergh gets paid.

since hugo, there have been ten category 5 hurricanes, about half of which have hit florida. the other half have gone gulfside (i mean who wouldn't? the yucatan is gorgeous this time of year), and one of those was one of the five deadliest hurricanes of all time - katrina.

in the wake of having a category 2 storm, irene, hit new york... i would like to touch on something. although i had a blast during the storm getting fucked up with natalie and listening to irene's pathetic rumbling on the other side of my (open) bedroom window, i know there was severe flooding and that this hurricane has taken 24 people's lives. i feel for the people who have lost homes, had property damage, known someone who has been hurt or has died during the ferocity of this type of natural disaster. it is the price we pay for living in certain areas of the country.

we sign up for where we live. like beaches? hurricanes. like country plains? tornadoes. like living on an active volcano? lava. earthquakes. kimodo dragons.

the weather channel warned you: if you live on staten island, you're going to flood. if you live in the LES or battery park or seaport, you are going to flood. manhattan is an island, people!!! it is SURROUNDED by WATER. IT IS GOING TO RUN THE RISK OF FLOODING, AND NOT JUST DURING A HURRICANE.

you signed the deed. doesn't mean that you deserve to die. but it does mean that you should listen to the weather channel.

braving the storms we got was a fun part of my childhood. we used to go out with helmets and baseball bats when it would hail. i never lived in a place that was crazy flooded like staten island or new orleans, but we got a little bit of lake overflow that was a bitch to clean up.

hurricane damage is shitty and slow to forget, and i'm sorry to all those who have ever lost anyone or anything to one. but next time, if you don't like the chance of having to brave a storm, then live in arizona. i hear it never rains there.

~k.

diary of an oxygen thief

2011-08-21T14:44:00.000-07:00

"i liked hurting girls.

...

loved it. i didn't care how long it took either because i was in no hurry. i'd wait until they were totally in love with me. till the big saucer eyes were looking at me. i loved the shock on their faces. then the glaze as they tried to hide how much i was hurting them."

this book, as narcissistic the copy is, struck a chord in me. i've been there. i know what he did to those girls mentally. i've done it and had it done to me.

it's premise is karma's inevitable boomerang... hurt and be hurt back. punish someone for loving you because you are angry they could be so dumb as to love you in the first place. and acute awareness {sadness} that yes, people can be that cruel and fucked up to you.

i guess there is a monster in all of us. at least knowing someone out there can think equally cold thoughts about what love is for raw value... that's more than refreshing.

check out the book. i would give you the authors name but it was written by anonymous.

~k.

drunk

2011-08-18T23:13:00.000-07:00

one liners are so
funny until
they happen to you.

this week is an anomaly. faces and words mean nothing.

in a relationship

2011-08-17T01:40:00.000-07:00

"but
"oh, you're so
..."interesting -

hm.
i am.
sooooo many things
you will never know
and that's why

"soooooo interesting"
happens.

too bad
the minute man
is giving out parking tickets.

~k.

sweets

2011-08-12T00:58:00.000-07:00

"they" say that smell is the one most important key to memory.

okay, "they", i might agree.

the smell of someone's skin,
a t-shirt,
a sandal.

a beach bag, you say? well,

her name was lindsay.

your cupcakes
and your breath
and your
real-estate-

are sunny-side-up
to me

you

expensive

thing.

smiling
through my teeth
without spaces.

~k.

bookmarked

2011-08-05T11:57:00.000-07:00

today = beautiful.

slight breeze from the southeast.
one of those not-too-bright suns, the kind that makes everything a little fuzzy and golden.
iced teas. with lemon. and mint.

solid sleep schedule. ballet in the mornings and a tepid shower before work. steeped in smoke and satisfaction. today feels amazing on my skin, like wearing an old cotton t-shirt to bed. today reminds me of why i paid tall prices for sacrificial rite.

off to work.
tra-la-la-la-la

~k.

dumb and dumber

2011-08-04T10:39:00.000-07:00

big gulps huh? welp. see ya later.

the more public we get the more mystery we lose. as my father so gracefully put it, facebook takes the hypocrisy out of human nature, and it's wringing out of us the meaningful interactions that we need for strong relationships.

yes, hypocrisy. it's like the pan of necessary personal-feeling gods. we need to have the ability to tell someone not to do something and do it ourselves. without that option, the glass will always be half full, and it will always have someone else's lipstick on it.

well, now, everything is public, and people can read, comment, and browse through personal pictures online. the iphone makes it so that you can do all of this on a shuttle bus going from grand to lorimer when the L train shuts down some weekends. just a quick fix and you're on your way to the gig...

well. i must say that it's difficult NOT to give in to the temptation that at least you're getting information from somewhere... oh, what's that? right. including here.

irony, hypocrisy, big gulps.

~k.

awe

2011-07-30T13:55:00.000-07:00

skin
is way too thin
and way too
easy
to get under
nowadays.

~k.

states and capitols

2011-07-28T02:01:00.000-07:00

towns. states.
all these pronouns for the
people i like
a lot.
maybe
when someone says,
"my name is______"
i should just say
"hold on..."
and then
"is your name a
name
of a state or a capitol?"
and when they say
yes
i should politely
excuse myself to the bathroom
and leave
the building. states
and capitols
have no business
around me.

~k.

bring a kerchief

2011-07-26T07:39:00.000-07:00

i saw war horse on saturday at the vivan beaumant theatre in lincoln center. if you don't know what that is, you should watch this:

it was one of those plays that gets inside of you. it bounces off the walls of your mind like a ping-pong ball. i started crying about ten minutes in and didn't stop until the end. i'm going to have to realize eventually that i am just not able to watch stories about the friendship between animals and humans without a waterworks session, maybe ever.

remember the movie homeward bound? holy shit, i thought my eyes were going to fall out of their sockets on that one. all dogs go to heaven? spent three days afterwards in bed with mild depression. what is it about that bond that we have with an animal that makes me so sad at the threat of loss?

i don't even get that depressed about breaking up with someone. and granted, while i've had death suspended in front of my face for the last couple of years between my father's and grandfather's cancers... i haven't lost someone close to me since jackie died, which was in 1992. some of my acquaintances have done stupid things over the years and have lost their lives due to poor decisions being fucked up on massive amounts of drugs and alcohol, but none have ever been so close that it has affected me. and even when it comes to someone like my grandfather, who's death seems imminent due to old age and a decreased immune system from radiation therapy... well, i know his life has been thorough and beautiful.

it is our impending death that will always teach us the value, beauty, and fleetingness of life.

i guess when it comes to an animal that you are close to, it's like the raw non-judgement of a child... animals don't give a fuck about your past and how you have fucked up yourself and friendships in a selfish plight to find your path. they don't point fingers or tell you how you could be a better person. they are your friend, and all they want to do is cuddle on cold nights.

okay, so maybe my cats also enjoy pissing on my laundry and if i had a horse it would be really uncomfortable to cuddle on cold nights even though i do have a queen sized bed. but still. animals don't judge you. and that's why i get so sad when there are movies and plays about them where they may die.

warhorse was unfuckingbelievable though, and i suggest that you see it immediately.

~k.

curvy

2011-07-25T21:00:00.000-07:00

i have found a new obsession, and it may or may absolutely be a career path i'm currently projecting for my future.
.

cause, let's face it, i may really suck at it. but i always thought it would be really cool to be able to tell your grandchildren that the checks you write to them are made possible because their grandmother creates and sells these:

that's right.

latex clothing. i have always loved super cartoony fashion... the shininess of the latex and the clean, structured colors create a realistic yet fun and kinda ridiculous sense of fashion humor. i'm seriously obsessed. it seems as if my love for bows and hello kitty has manifested itself into a career. i knew my degrees would pay off, one day.

cafe panache tomorrow, excited and tired and ready for some sleep.

~k.

*the website tutorial where you can learn to make little gloves is http://makinglatexclothing.com/category/tutorials-and-how-to/ ch-ch-check it out

rule books are for sissies anyway

2011-07-23T07:44:00.001-07:00

i thought that when you got to a certain age in life, you just, well, had everything handled.

you knew automatically what was in your checking account so that you would never overdraw. you would be responsible enough that you wouldn't ever think of overdrawing your checking account in the first place.

you would know when to gracefully decline and when it's the right time and place to assert yourself gracefully as well. i don't know the line betwixt graceful and loopy.

you would know how to talk to people you think you love, and you would know if you should tell them you love them too, or if you should ever even do it in the first place. THAT one has gotten me into trouble over the years.

the first time my father ever cried in front of me was also the only time i have ever seen the man employ his tear ducts. my parents were getting separated and he was moving out; he was at the end of his ropes and he thought his life as he knew it was over.

of course, it wasn't, but the theme music that constantly played in the background with him was pointing to "devastation". a really beautiful strings piece, if i do say so myself.

i remember him hugging me, i remember him teetering on the line between okay and crazy, and i remember him stumbling over that line as he sobbed into my shoulder.

"i'm sorry. don't let this ruin you. i'm sorry, i didn't know this was going to happen. i'm sorry, i'm sorry, i'm sorry..."

it was my first adult realization that we don't have rule books for life. he didn't know what the fuck he was doing when he made the decision to rear a child, much less three of them. he guessed, and went on instinct, and from that point on, i knew i could never blame him for the stupid shit he did to me thinking that was what was going to make me a better person.

rule books don't exist. and if they do apply - they're limitations. it's freedom or restriction, and there's not alot of gray area between.

~k.

it's so

2011-07-23T01:48:00.000-07:00

lame.

aperitif

2011-07-21T00:11:00.000-07:00

the jug is gone, the
sweets poured out,
i've come to love
the tea of doubt, this
loose leeway
spelled wrong, of course,
cause if it's not
you'd lie, but worse;

oh, three am, you're
late but checked, your
coat is all but
nothing left, so
smile, and dance, and marvel
in
the words which we
create within.

~k.

. that's right. sometimes i like to rhyme. but at last i can spell it.

fridays

2011-07-15T19:29:00.001-07:00

i'm dually impressed with myself tonight.

first, because i somehow managed to finagle my way out of the rest of my shift tonight. i am currently in bed, about to watch harry potter and the goblet of fire with my cats and some kickass pad soon wen.

secondly, i have spent the day thinking about what i have accomplished in the last couple of months. i come home exhausted every night but it has all been worth it. physically, i am bruised and scratched up, war wounds and marley burns and inverting on silks, scaffolding, and makeshift bars. emotionally, i am radiant... i feel as though i have somehow given the skin of my mind a chemical peel or a deep avacado-black sand exfoliation.

things have been making so much more sense recently... revelations about movement and evisceration of distractions flip flop on the shores of my reason, the beached silver tarpons at low tide. it was confusing at first, but now that i've made it through that tornado of work, i'm hungry to take on some more. my appetite is growing as my waist is shrinking... the blood is boiling through my veins and into the steamy seaport dusk, into the movement in the studio and beyond, beyond, beyond.

i'm reading three books right now, all of which are chipping away at different pieces of my mind, and i feel lighter, more fluid, and calm.

so harry potter, a beer, and solitude for tonight, all in the comfort of my own bed. this really is a well-needed arrangement.

~k.

anonymous

2011-07-08T22:55:00.000-07:00

"perhaps the most terrible (or wonderful) thing that could happen to an imaginative youth, aside from the curse (or blessing) of imagination itself, is to be exposed without preparation to life outside his or her own sphere - the sudden revelation that there is a there out there."

tom robbins, jitterbug perfume

i think it's best
we never meet,
heroes against heroes
and such.
you talk like you know
me
but i could be anyone ~
annoying.
harsh.
loud.
i'm none of those
things, actually,
and if i'd give me
a second i could
breathe
and remember art imitates life...
hah.
i forgot that
i sold my soul for
a butterfinger in '96
and i forgot
that i had an overbite
the size of
the grand canyon
and i forgot i
told myself that
love
was something you read
on the back of a
milk box...
these verbs i use are not applied
to the life that i
know and use.
i am ~
this.
and this.
and this.
previously mentioned.
indicated, the
present.
welcome to
new york, i
guess.

~k.

oh, smile

2011-07-08T01:37:00.000-07:00

i could say
the things that make you smile
cause you know i'm thinking of you at
4:38 am.
i could say the things
that make you smile
cause you know i have 13 minutes
to smoke this cigarette.
i could say the things that make
you smile, cause
you know your smile
hasn't been around, i
could say
the things that make
you smile
cause they're the things
that make you smile,
but i won't, cause
discreetly,
you're smiling, and
i hate it.
you'll never know
my red satin sheets
and
you'll never know
my red satin smile
and you'll
never know my 13 minutes
cause you didn't want to.
and you most likely
didn't ever try.
so draw my face
and write your words
and live your life
without me.
cause
i will never
be that
big
ass
heart
you'd ever love.

~k.

definitions

2011-07-03T23:49:00.000-07:00

let me delineate.

nerve (nûrv)
n.
1. Any of the cordlike bundles of fibers made up of neurons through which sensory stimuli and motor impulses pass between the brain or other parts of the central nervous system and the eyes, glands, muscles, and other parts of the body. Nerves form a network of pathways for conducting information throughout the body.
2. The sensitive tissue in the pulp of a tooth.
3. A sore point or sensitive subject: The criticism touched a nerve.
4.
a. Courage and control under pressure: lost his nerve at the last minute.
b. Fortitude; stamina.
c. Forceful quality; boldness.
d. Brazen boldness; effrontery: had the nerve to deny it.
5. nerves Nervous agitation caused by fear, anxiety, or stress: an attack of nerves.
6. A vein or rib in the wing of an insect.
7. The midrib and larger veins in a leaf.
tr.v. nerved, nerv·ing, nerves
To give strength or courage to.
Idioms:
get on (someone's) nerves
To irritate or exasperate.
strain every nerve
To make every effort.

i would like to pay special attention to: number 3, especially to numbers 4sub a-4sub d, and to the idioms of the verb "nerve".

my friend, you have no idea how much the nerve was hit. ain't no novocaine that covers those lousy tracks.

~k.

facebook sucks

2011-07-01T09:42:00.000-07:00

i can't stand you.

literally, i look at your pictures and i loathe what you are, what you are doing and not doing, and how witty you believe yourself to be.

and i hate that, cause it's fucking up my whole mantra.

send light, send love, and let it go?

not for you, buddy. the way that you treated me, the way that you lied to me, the way that you casually shook it off like it was NOTHING... well. that's certainly what i was to you, was it not? nothing. straight up, plain language, nothing.

and what's worse, is that i stuck around because i believed in who you were and how much talent you had. i believed what you said to me and the thousand "i love you"'s you shoved down my throat cause you knew you could sleep in my bed longer if that's what you said.

i'm more angry at myself than you, i guess, cause i'm a smart girl with no common sense when it comes to love. i'm a girl that believes pretty words with good punctuation and proper grammar, and you knew enough to keep me around.

ugh. if you spent as much time working on your life as you did posting pictures to your stupid blog, you would have made so much more out of yourself than you are now. but it's not my decision, it's yours, as it always has been. so fuck your girls and download your pictures and pretend like how you treated me was cool.

it's not cool. and neither are you.

~k.

ooops.

2011-06-26T00:41:00.000-07:00

i'm so
relieved.
thank
you.
~k.

bloomberg

2011-06-18T22:40:00.000-07:00

fingers
crossed

~k.

ghost words

2011-06-15T22:57:00.000-07:00

it's like
i never
even
wrote them.

~k.

ambitions

2011-06-14T16:11:00.001-07:00

this cabaret i'm designing with anya is...

lucid. biting. soft. bloody. masochistic. smashtastic. heartfelt. enigmatic. lustrous. alluring. a portrait of solitude in a crowded and limitless city.

it's the journey to new york and the story of pushing through. of accepting defeat and knowing it's beautiful, and how sometimes, it's the only way. it's about being alone outside of fleeting momentary embraces. about allowing the uncomfortable and knowing the sunset is just another lightbulb burning out.

actions, reactions, and mending the stitches we break. forgiving the dollar signs and relenting to the art that brought us here.

it is my story.
it is anya's story.
it is everyone's story and you all deserve to be a part of it.

opening night is thursday, 23rd of june. doors at 9, show at 10. 342 maujer st in brooklyn... you can walk from the grand street L train.

there is a 20-piece orchestra and a seven person cast. i am the choreographer and you all are dancers in the show, if you just show up. it will feed you, it will inspire you, and most of all, it will never leave you.

we are all new york.

~k.

minute words

2011-06-09T01:03:00.000-07:00

so pretty,
paying word for
word...
the meter maid got
a little tired.

~k.

charlotte

2011-06-07T22:45:00.000-07:00

sing, sing,
sing...
spotlight dwells on your
nose, your
little mole
perching on your lip;
sing, sing,
sing...
make yourself known,
cause the silence
leads to nothing,
and the solitude leads to
gold;
sing, sing,
sing...
don't forget the
tonka-tots
that pushed you
to the top,
the plastic faces
and boring spaces
made better by
a lop-sided
city view, sparkling
windows and
exposed brick walls
are better dreams than
none, i guess.

sing, sing,
sing,
cause the dance fell
short of the dress.

~k.

the cork

2011-06-05T21:46:00.000-07:00

dance and love and hot and friends... and all the while, you're still not here. push and pull and stretch and thin... even a two doesn't fit me anymore. these words and calls past sleeping walls... it's all a fake, a puppet trade; of yours to mine and to compare our share of "heartbreak".

i write about you when i'm drunk.

how does that make you feel?

cause if it's one-fifth of how you make me feel, then, well...

we'll be even on wednesday.

i, my friends, am an idiot.

~k.

on hamsters and healing

2011-06-01T23:07:00.000-07:00

i wish there were enough words in the english language to describe how i feel sometimes. like right now sometimes. this is why i make up words, and this is why those words make total and utter sense.

when i was a kid, i had two hamsters, hammy and ophelia. besides the ridiculous shakespeare reference, they were awesome. granted, i almost killed ophelia when i decided it would be a good idea to put her in a fedora and take her out to our pool so she could "lay out" (i was absolutely certain that hamsters led human lives as soon as we walked out of the room when i was young).
she "got out" of the hat and "almost drowned" in our neighbors' pool gutter. good thing a white hamster looks nothing like a rat, or i might have been arrested for accomplice to hamster murder.

so, my mom told me not to touch the 13 (!) babies she had when she gave birth to hammy's offspring. "but why?" i asked. "well, because they will get eaten by the mother," she said.

okay. i have heard ridiculous horror stories from new mothers, and the gross things that happen when kids get sick... but a mother eATiNG her kids? c'monnnnnn. get outtttt. that is totally made up, and i was too smart for her little "stories". and let's face it, there is something retardedly cute about a teeny blind rodent. they're so soft, and teeny...

she totally ate them. all 13. down the hatch, no sauces.

i.

was.

devastated.

of course, it was my own fault, as my mother reminded me at least once a month every year afterwards (i didn't like doing dishes). but i was so tempted by their amaurotic adorableness that i had to go there... and it ended in death.

and so, i wish that webster's had a fucking word for this story, cause it's exactly how i feel at this very moment, and i can't fucking describe it without writing a god. damn. essay.

meh.

~k.

the busy signal

2011-05-31T22:39:00.000-07:00

singing in the studio is like faking an orgasm.

it's always perfecter when it's remixed, right?

hmmm.

~k.

the roses made me do it

2011-05-30T22:37:00.000-07:00

i'm sorry.

i'm sorry to whoever i said "hang on a minute"

or "i'll be there in a second"....

i'm sorry. it's a shitty feeling, right? i (YOU) are worth more than that, worth more than me writing this electronically.

you, my friend, are worth more to me than any letter, that any wisp of imagination i could write a story with. you are my friend, and i appreciate you. even if i never say it.

work. :)

~k.

firecrackers

2011-05-28T01:26:00.000-07:00

oh, burn
you silly little flames,
give me
momentary leave
from your seriousness
"but i have
a cigarette"
just gives me time to
NOT
understand you, it's
all your smoky
mirrors that convince me
to smile this way, an
that...

you can give me
your number
but it doesn't mean
you have to pick up.

shame on me,
cause i came back for seconds.

~k.

getting away

2011-05-25T09:57:00.000-07:00

my apartment sucks.

it's small, dirty, unfinished, and hot. we don't even have a living room... we have a mud room that we forced a couch into so we could have somewhere to sit (uncomfortably) to watch our 5 inch t.v. and yeah, we have a backyard, which is great for the cats... but my landlord's mother comes out through the basement and moves things into her shed at 8 am. and talks loudly to whoever is helping her in spanish. and thinks i'm rude when i ask her for the 73rd time to kindly wait until 10 am seeing that natalie and i work late.

so, yeah. my apartment sucks. i didn't want it originally, the guy i moved here with said it would be a great "fixer-upper", and when i broke up with him a month later seemed to not really care about the "fixing". instead, he and i avoided the apartment like the plague and by the time nat moved in four months later the only thing that had changed was that i had swept and mopped.

so our next big thing is moving. i really like the north bedford neighborhood, even though i'm pretty sure it's almost as expensive as living in the city. and i really like the warehouses/loft space further into bushwick but natalie doesn't want to live in an area that is that dangerous. we could go down to the lorimer/havemeyer area, but then we run into problems like running into my ex, who lives and works over that way. i'm trying not to go to bars around me cause they were all his before i moved here and besides, grand street is like a circuit. all the same people go to all the same bars, and they all wear the same thing and talk about the same cool bands they saw at an underground venue in brooklyn that only they know about because the other venues have become too "hipster".

i will credit natalie with this when i say that sometimes we feel like we are trapped in the cover of a bob dylan cd... and btw, happy birthday, mr. dylan. you conceived williamsburg from your own loins, it seems.

i don't care if our new apt is big, or new. i just want it to be welcoming and sunny. i want it to be in a neighborhood that's quiet and has character that doesn't come from people wanting to be uber cool. i want to move, and i have to wait until october. meh.

so much work to do.

~k.

pushing through

2011-05-21T14:51:00.000-07:00

and so she flew.

it was good to finally get all of that stupid floor from under my feet away. to spin into nothingness and let the edges blur. to feel music and limbs wrapped up into a beautiful black silk. weightlessness, rather.

setting out to do something and finally accomplishing it is enlightening. seeing my dancers up on stage for sold out shows, seeing my name on the program under "choreographer", seeing pictures of me doing something i have always wanted to do... i'm progressing. it's happening, and i didn't realize it because i was too heavy inside of my head. but there's proof in the pictures and the people who have helped me get to where i wanted to go.

it's like getting a haircut. at first, the bob is really shocking because you've had long hair for your entire life, and you're used to putting it up into a ponytail or how you should style it for pictures. but then you chop it, and you don't know what to do with it. you don't know how it will react when you blow-dry it, you have no idea what products to use to control it, and what it will look like if you get caught in the rain.

after a little while, though, your hair calms down and you begin to understand it and work with it rather than against it, and it grows into the cut rather nicely. it becomes agreeable and you get to know this new style, and maybe you might go back to long hair but for now, you are enjoying the breeze on the back of your neck.

ballet is my passion. movement is in my blood. but there are so many new levels to explore with the air, and i am more than happy to go on adventures. i have learned much about what i am capable of over the last couple of weeks. and i am proud of myself.

so cliche and awful. but that pride is going to just get stronger with time and experience. conquer the world you say? alright. one silk at a time.

~k.

ps: these are the last 2 nights to see this show. i will be choreographing a cabaret in late june, so if you miss $piderman you can catch the dead bunny cabaret next month. :)

glass houses

2011-05-07T11:30:00.000-07:00

throwing

stones

is easier

to do

when

you

live

in a world

that is impenetrable.

~k.

grains

2011-05-05T06:55:00.000-07:00

i miss you, ocean.
i miss your temperate touch
on my legs, where you
lay your head when
you're sleepy.
i miss you, and
you know i do, it's
why i came back
and why you told me
to.
i miss your embrace
against my back,
eyes closed, nose
filled with your smell-
i only pretended
to nap, i
didn't want to miss
the minutes i had you in
my arms.
i miss your lapping laughs
and your tides washing
over my thighs, and
even though you didn't
say it, i know
you thought my ass
looked great bobbing
in your waves...
i miss you ocean, and
i've known i always have,
and even though i'm
chasing these pavements
i'm still with you, and
i still want to come back
for sunsets and windy
kisses.

~k.

take it with a grain of sand

2011-05-03T12:33:00.000-07:00

There once was a girl
Who had a curl
In the middle of her forehead;
When she was good, she
Was good, but
When she was bad
She was awful.

-k.

wide open spaces

2011-04-29T13:30:00.000-07:00

and then, she floated.

water sloshing across the top of the board, being pushed around by the waves. spun sideways from the current, southwest, i think it was.

staring up at the sky, up to this warm blue nothing.

there was nothing above me but endlessness, hm dare i say... possibility?

no, i won't. because it's cliche and stupid. nonetheless, it was pretty fucking beautiful out.

i work, tomorrow and sunday, but in between i'm going to try to be as weightless as possible. to try and let go of the string. to achieve, well... nothing.

i'm out of my city for the next couple of days, to return to several new old things. and i'm excited for what each day will bring. sparks have re-ignited somewhere in my gut. it tickles ;)

thanks.

~k.

a bible! it's called a bible...

2011-04-24T13:45:00.000-07:00

taking responsibility.

is not.

saying you're sorry 10,001 times.

the more that phrase, or any phrase for that matter but especially THAT one, "i'm sorry."

oh. okay. so... you're sorry. it implies everything yet amends nothing, and is used in place of the actions that are supposed to vindicate the situation. "i'm sorry" is not an action. it's simply a veneer.

so, taking responsibility would be awareness of the situation vs. the consequences, and amending the problem at hand. this does not mean one has to be a footstool for another who they wronged. this means that in a situation where "i'm sorry" could be used, so could be determined it should never happen again, not only because the action hurt the protagonist of the story, but also caused the antagonist to hurt for hurting someone they cared about.

inevitably, what we have here is called being an "adult"; that is, be responsible with other's feelings, or you in turn will hurt. kind of like that "do unto others" bullshit that's found in that book catholics like to say they study from.

don't say you're sorry. just stop hurting me, and then i will know you're sorry. duh. why is that so difficult to understand?

there is a danger in this, though, which is taking too much responsibility for others feelings, which in turn leads to people wiping their muddy-ass keds across your face. i'm talking doormat, people, and i have been one in the past. i feel bad for people who tell me they have problems or drama or negative energy in their life. i FEEL for them, man, and i have lent a lot of cell phone minutes to talk about their "more-important-than-asking-how-you're-doing-in-your-life" problems. the conversation is as one-sided as kim kardashian having high tea with stalin. i'm sick of talking about your larger than life ass. shut up already!!!

balance is good, trying to walk that line between highs and lows. i want more balance in my relationships... i want to dust off the ones i think can be saved and put the other ones out on the curb. i want to have a friends who allow me to push and pull, not just be a therapist, and i want a romantic relationship i don't have to dictate a schedule to. i want to be so busy with light and love that all the other shit just fades away, like honey in tea.

i want for people to stop apologizing to me, and start showing me. and i want to do that myself, for myself, as well.

first nice day of the spring. cleaning the attic and cobwebs off my mind. there will be spic AND span in here, soon.

~k.

oh, girl

2011-04-20T23:31:00.000-07:00

oh.
i hope you're not
TOO disappointed.
i am not
this girl that makes pretty things.
i am not
this girl that
tells you to "
look at my art"
i am not this'
girl
that tells you pretty things
you believe
til your heart
ends
sss
oh gosh
i'm just a girl
that wishes.
that's all
just, wishes. open
heart, open
palms.

~k.

seasons

2011-04-18T06:00:00.000-07:00

long days,
cold nights. spring
is here, again.
i feel like
holding on to
the fall, holding
it to my heart,
giving it last
chances til it hurts.
but i guess
no one
can build us out
of weather, no one
can wipe away
the ice... i
have to learn
to let go
of the seasons
as they change.

~k.

i listened to a dumb song from coldplay and it got me thinking about the past. god damn you, coldplay. i hate your face.

2011-04-15T15:03:00.000-07:00

hmph.

well, this certainly has been a trip, now, hasn't it?

whenever i get up on that high horse, whenever i find the only swing that hasn't yet been occupied, whenever i resound the triumphant trumpets... a day will sit so heavy on my shoulders i feel like asking it to buy two tickets instead of just one because of weight restrictions.

i'm clearing my mind. i'm cleaning out the attic and dusting off the corners of my life. i'm re-evaluating, i'm re-choreographing, i'm re-everything-ing my simple little life and i just can't seem to get the clutter out.

find a vent. clear a path. polish the stone. change the bulb. i'm trying, oprah, i really am, but your suggestions from the article in the spring edition of your magazine entitled "thirty super fantastic ways to de-clutter your life" just haven't been working.

how many times can a girl start over? i mean, before it becomes futile? or os it all in vain?

we do these things, these beautiful tiny things every day, that make us believe in the greater good. we might sing in the shower or to carnegie hall, dance in front of a bedroom mirror or behind janet jackson on tour. we do these things in hopes that we will get somewhere right, somewhere proper, and we wait.

we wait for confirmation, we wait for paychecks, for retribution, and for validation. we wait for love and light and those days that make it all worth it.

this, my friends, was not one of those days. i know they exist, but today, unfortunately, did not even come close.

and although i understand the dichotomy of knowing what sucks to appreciate what's great... it doesn't make the days less long and it doesn't instill the memory that there will be good days to come.

the show was great last night, crash mansion loved us, again. work wasn't really bad either, but there was just something there, a metal jacket across my shoulders. seeing that spring is moving in, pretty soon it'll be too hot to wear in balmy weather, so i am going to follow through with my plan of removal.

i've been wearing the armor for too damn long.

~k.

to find the key

2011-04-12T10:46:00.000-07:00

i will be
a solid stance,
a stone-cold
pillar of
hardened hearts.
i will be
a rock garden,
spread amongst
wishing revelers.
i will be
a guarded cave,
jewels locked
within my walls.
i will be
a treasure chest,
a rusted
tomb of envy.
i will be
all of this, and
pretend like the
summer day is long,
but i will never
be
so good for you
cause the walls
will never be
broken through.

~k.

upswing, downswing

2011-04-10T12:48:00.000-07:00

i think i have a major issue with boot envy.

walking home today, mind as heavy as the dusty brown clodhoppers i wear all the time, i saw at least six pairs of boots i wished were gracing my feet instead of their owners. all down havemyer i got distracted from my current distractions and lusted after the sexiness that boots are.

a tall camel-colored pair of flats, high-calf length. slim but not dainty, flat but not bottomed-out. ankle cut cowboy boots, black, snakeskin. buckled black fryes, just under the base of the calf.

so, so sexy.

and each time i would see a pair i liked, i would look at my own and see the broken leather ankle strap, the margarita spills on the toes, the worn-down heel. i bought them vintage, granted. but i beat them up, bloody and bruised.

it was a grey day today, cool and slightly damp. the kind of damp that settles down in your joints and gets in between your ears. i have felt lucid these past couple of days, like my life is buzzing all around me and i'm standing still, watching it. every once in awhile, i participate in the conversation or am brought back by a slight touch of a friend's hand, but observing is where i need to be. it was no different this morning than it was from going out last night. the bars were busy and i was tired of being in the middle of so many people. my friends were scanning for men and i was admiring the decor of the new-ish bar on lorimer.

i made the decision i needed more mirrors in my life. they were everywhere in that place, and it gave such spectacular views for the people watching.

i didn't talk to anyone really, just watched everything happen and chat to my girlfriends who i was there with. commented on men who grew the early-90s rapist mustaches, and why they would think it actually was acceptable to wear out. pushed our way through loud hipsters to our vodka sodas, put erin in a cab when it was a good idea to go home. slept it off.

i woke up grey, started cleaning. talked to a good, old friend. something about laughing about the past relationship lessons i learned with him makes the new ones i'm learning a little more bearable.

so anyway, fast forward from dropping off drum cymbals to my now-ex (after all, it says so on facebook), walking home.

boot envy. rwowr. meow.

i get to the underpass, again staring at the dilapidated jalopies i call boots and wishing i could fix the strap, but i don't have a leather-sewing tool, i got distracted, for the 1,548th time, by the sound of laughter. i was by the playground, and there were two parents swinging with their children, pushing them higher and higher as the kids literally squealed with delight. it stopped me in my tracks.

so, i swung. i chucked my heavy boots in the air and used their momentum backward to push myself almost parallel to the ground on the backswing. as i started downward again i threw my chest forward and drove my feet into the air, chunky black soles framed in grey skies and highway overpass. the cold damp air rushed into my lungs like water in a cess pool at high tide, and with every fall back down from the sky got sucked out of me as if there were hands inside my ribcage pulling it out. eventually, after the children had left and my fingers were numb from the metal chains, i let my body slow down, relax, and feel the tide of the motion.

my feet dragged back and forth, tipping forward on the toe and falling back to the heel. the boots looked so beat up against the patterned playground matting, so worn in.

and it was with that thought that i fell in love with them again. they're a little busted, but they look great on me. they're perfect for what i do and who i am. they're surviving, and have done great work.

i hopped up off the swing, smoothed out my jacket, and grabbed my purse. my feet, just like my head, had suddenly become a little lighter.

~k.

oh, conflict

2011-04-09T23:56:00.000-07:00

directions are so hard.
am i supposed
to count them
on an abacus?
all these you's, with
your pretty lines
and empty flights;
these you's
who
push me through
and let me singe
at your heels...
you should never read
my paper words
cause those are the
ones
that burn the fastest.

~k.

another one bites the dust

2011-04-08T08:09:00.001-07:00

ah, yes... the fleeting feeling of security has changed course, dumped me back into the wild once more. i think i should've followed through on my dream of becoming an oceanographer/skydiver. perhaps if i rented an igloo in antarctica and studied the mating habits of emperor penguins, i wouldn't have such a turbulent wake of bodies behind me.

i have managed, yet again, to ruin another significant other's life. which also means i will have to stop going to most of the bars in williamsburg and probably some heading out into bushwick. i have decided i will resort to staying home alone, most likely with the curtains closed and netflix on.

how is it possible that i cannot have a relationship for more than a year? sans the three year gig i did with the kid when i lived in atlanta (which technically could be equated to one, considering that i traveled for six months, he didn't talk to me for four months, and we broke up on and off when he wasn't invested in constantly cheating on me), every relationship i have ever been in i have ruined in under a year.

and i tend to always blame it on my career, but this time around i think i'm going to push this issue a little deeper. i'm going to delve into what i will officially name this scientific issue: the whiskey reaction.

it is no secret that i like to drink. i'm a bartender, i love red wine, i love drinking red wine with a shot of whiskey behind it... i just really like the process of alcohol. and i have always stood by the fact that drinking only turns into a problem when you let it; which is to say, when it begins to own you. up until this point, and still not even all that much, it hasn't been a problem with me.

but. whiskey is whiskey, and it's like a long downward tumble. drink it when you're happy, you'll sing yourself to sleep. drink it when you're sad, you'll wake up in the morning with no friends, an empty gas can, and a burning bar.

i've been really happy recently. i've had alot of work, i've been dancing alot, i've been training, i've been creating in the sewing studio... i've been really busy. so busy with things, in fact, that my (now ex-) boyfriend voiced his opinion on the matter; which is to say, instill a little more guilt than i already carry.

wait, guilt? why?

this is my career. this is my dance company, those are my costumes created by my hands, that is my fucking website and those are my pieces of choreography... why am i guilty for finally pulling my ass out of the shithole sewer i moved into coming to new york and actually goddamn doing something with my time? just because i don't want to stay in bed until 3 every fucking day and cuddle doesn't mean that i have to feel guilty about your needs. and this little seed has been growing and growing and growing... i could see it across his face when we talked about schedules and i could hear it in his voice over the phone.

and don't even get me started on the fact that when we did hang out at my house (and not a bar, because ohmahgawd, he drinks alot to, y'all), i would just get poked and pinched and JUST STOP TOUCHING ME, OKAY? FOR FIVE DAMN MINUTES... i've been working all day or costuming and i have my fucking period and you are basically sitting on top of me and poking at me like a child trying to get his mother to pay attention to her...

i'm sitting right next to you, watching iron chef. is it necessary to poke me until i have to tell you to stop?

so yeah, i got a little frustrated with his behavior, although i can't excuse the fact that my absence was the catalyst for his neediness. this is how relationships work with me. after the grace period of the one year mark starts to rear its ugly head, the guy will begin to get really needy, because i stop paying so much attention to them and i put a focus back on my career. then i bottle up all of the anger and the emotions i feel about that and convince myself i'm imagining it and that it will all just go away, and it ferments.

then i just need one event to shake the bottle, and it explodes. this is where the whiskey effect takes place. i drink the whiskey, the event happens, and i let all of the residual liquid come shooting out from the top. i'm not great with emotions, even though i've come a long way, which is actually pretty sad.

so i left the ex's bar on wednesday, after bringing him a piece of pie (and taking 3 whiskey shots, although they were baby shots so it doesn't really count) with the intention of going home. walking home, i passed by a bar i go into occasionally and decided i would like to get another drink. so i did. after smoking a cigarette outside and making a couple new friends (who happened to be guys, this is where the problem starts to thicken) my new friends decided they wanted to buy me a drink. so i did, and i did a cheers with them.

and after i killed the shot, i put down my glass and there he was, staring at me with knives across the bar. "what are you doing, i thought you said you were going home?"

shake shake shake. rumble.

"well i did, but i decided to get another drink. does it matter?"

SHakE rumBLe buZZZZ

"well you said you have to work inthe morning, otherwise you could've waited for me or something..."

bUZZZZZZ agaASDG daDFDGFWEF *boom*

i don't really remember what happened afterwards, cause after all, as he so innocently pointed out, i was drunk. but i'm pretty sure there were the phrases "not my keeper" and "don't have to do everything together" put into play.

i'm not saying i was right for the way i reacted. on the contrary, i'm embarrassed that it came to that for me. he didn't know what the fuck was going on, cause i never told him. all he saw was his girlfriend who said she was en route home surrounded by guys buying her drinks. the break-up happened at an inopportune time, and was brought on by the effect of the whiskey i love so dearly.

now listen here, everybody. i'm not saying i'm a fucking angel. i'm not. on any given day at any point in time, i am usually wrong. i have made bad decisions that have affected good people and i try not to make them again. but the one bad decision i have continuously made that i haven't learned from, is evidently thinking i can have a relationship with someone else. i get into it thinking, this one will be different. you won't ruin it. it seems like it can work. and inevitably, i feel like someone has put a collar and a leash around my neck, and i freak the fuck out.

i feel like even though i know my reasons, he will never understand, and i could never explain it properly. i have worked so long on my career that if i get too close to someone else, it is being sabotaged. unfair? yes. childish? yes. but...

that's just me. until i can come to a point where i'm tired of devoting myself to my causes and i'm ready to devote myself to an actual person, well... then i guess i'm going to have to stick to being single. i hate the feeling of bringing other innocent souls down with the corruption of my own, and i'm tired of apologizing and feeling guilty about having an agenda that i instituted so long ago.

it's such a confusing catch-22 for me. how i can be someone with so much to offer, but not wanting to offer anything that gets in the way of my own life. does this make me selfish, or does it just make me an artist? are those things equatable to eachother?

ugh. i need a shower, i need some advil... i need so many things, and the only way i can get them is from me.

“You yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.” ~buddha

then why do i feel like such an asshole?

~k.

i AM LuCY

2011-04-02T09:29:00.000-07:00

she didn't fade, she's
inked on my skin,
like you wrote to me
that time, even
though you didn't
care enough to stick around.
no, lucy is STiLL
here and lucy is STiLL
angry, and mad
for life, the
way she was once
mad for you...
i wonder if LuCY
pops up in everyday
conversation
the way
you do, and don't;
so i am still LuCY
but i think you may be too -

fuck you, LuCY for leaving me.
fuck you, LuCY for not needing me.
i wanna say FuCK YOu
because i still LOVE YOu
no i'm not okay
and i don't know what to do

ugh.
life would be easier
if i could just
wipe the slate
clean.

~k.

gah

2011-03-30T22:33:00.000-07:00

SHUT UP!!!!

just...
shut up.
i can't take you
in my head
anymore.
these ghosts
are too pretty, too
paralyzing.

~k.

elementary

2011-03-28T09:00:00.001-07:00

settle in, settle
down, children; know
that detentions are passed out
at the sight of
an untucked shirt or
unruly behavior... hour
by hour with the
dunce cap on your head
til you've learned
(even though mistakes,
however unfortunate,
tend to repeat themselves
at vain and egocentric
children); know that
as you grow up
(whatever that means)
you will have less
and less margin
for those mistakes,
especially when done
to the same person
over and over again...
know that the heroes
you love are also
the villians you hate, which
eventually will translate
into your relationships,
too; know
that age isn't wisdom
and youth isn't innocence,
and the only way to
be immortal is if
people talk about your life
after you're gone.
no, children, your
days here are lucky
and fleeting and
if you manage, you will
one day know all these things
before you have lost
everyone in your world
that means something to you.
in the meantime,
turn to page 357 and read
chapter six, "the
psychological remnants
of abandonment".

~k.

getting high

2011-03-27T11:10:00.000-07:00

hm, as it seems, i have been a busy, busy bee.

or rather, a busy bunny.

busy bunny booking beautiful gigs that bestow brooklyn and thereafter better burlesque than before.

excessive, a mite bit. i have been so busy, in fact, that i have neglected to pour out my heart online for the last couple of weeks. forgive me, loyal reader, it has been quite a pressing month.

march has kind of been feverish with emotions... from the fight on natalie's birthday to the two gigs that dead bunny has had at crash mansion, and training on the rope as well as dance classes (and a highly unfortunate foot-sprain relapse that took about two weeks to recover, or at least, get not all that painful from). i've been teeming with energy, most of which has been positive and productive.

there have been a couple instances that have been less than desirable, which usually comes back to people i trust that let me down. but what am i to do? i have been one of those people at one point or another as well, so... hi, karma. nice to see you again. what's that? oh, of course, do you prefer earl grey or chamomile?

meh, it doesn't matter. i have done so much stuff this month to push forward that a couple setbacks won't matter. i am harry potter, after all, right?

i have been working on a new apparatus that anya and i call "the loop", which is comprised of a straight rope tied together at the point on the tress. imagine a head of a noose, the bottom of which hangs to about eye level with me. experimenting with point shoes as a fulcrum and learning which way i can lean to allow myself to spin until i invert in the air onto the rope has been amazing... at certain points the world goes away and everything becomes mixed and blurry, like when you melt crayons on a hot pan. it is the first aerial apparatus i have felt comfortable on, and that i feel i can progress on. i have officially fallen in love with an inanimate object, again.

better than something to break my heart, but a little boring in bed ;)

dead bunny is getting on the radar a little, as we have been performing at crash mansion twice this month and are booked again for two more shows in april as well. we are trying to get a residency show at the charleston on bedford in brooklyn, and i would love to do something at galapagos in dumbo. all on the horizon...

and to top everything off, i just did my first stilting gig at kiss n fly in the meatpacking district. despite my biggest fears on stilts (which i was kind of forced to conquer almost immediately) which are stairs and stray collins glasses on the floor, i had a blast, took pictures, and drank champagne with no major injuries. my heels are a little sore, but i think i can handle it.

all in all, the close of march is welcome. time for spring, time to clean, time to get this show on the road. so far 2011 has been a blast, and it's going to stay that way. <3

~k.

in the ashes of fawkes

2011-03-14T09:37:00.001-07:00

i am reading harry potter.

there, i said it. i didn't want to, i didn't buy the books, and i'm going to stick by the fact that this was NOT MY IDEA in the first place. it was natalie's. she insisted upon the material, she bought the book set, and she reveled in the fact that i finally consented. and truth be told, it was like pulling teeth to get me to peruse the slim first book, harry potter and the sorcerer's stone.

that was three weeks ago, and i'm currently on book six, with one more book before i say goodbye to the characters i've come to love so deeply.

with no trace of cynicism at all, i am quite ashamed to say that i think this is one of the most epic and well written series of my lifetime. wait... where are you going, most loyal readers?? no, it's... it's a good series!!! you should try it - please don't leave! they really are a good read!!!

just kidding. no one reads my blog. that last part was for my deflated confidence in the ability to make good decisions about popular literature.

i feel though, that as i watch this character and his friends grow older, even being a wizard cannot save him from the perils and struggles of life lessons and the devastating emptiness of the loss of persons you love. through the course of a story about an orphaned boy growing up with a secret he's only just been introduced to, the reader begins to realize that invincibility is only do to luck and circumstance. he eludes many a dangerous situation only by that combination (well, and the fact that he's a fucking wizard who has a pheonix-tail feather wand) and possibly in addition to a quick wit.

i am so into being a wizard. i loathe every day that goes by that i can't go to diagon alley and buy a broomstick or go into the forbidden forest and pet a fucking unicorn. being a muggle sucks.

in the same respect though, invincibility should be chalked up to the petrification of courage. we remember the hero, not the one who got away and lived to tell the story. but what does it mean to be a hero? is it simply courage and the ability to execute it? not all courageous people are heroic though... napoleon and hitler were courageous, but their foolishness and greed eventually overcame their plights of "courage". maybe they should be considered "advantageous" instead...

no, to be invincible, to be unconquerable is quite a feat. it's something that starts from the inside and works it's way out. it is a seed that has to be nourished and continuously fed.

it starts with conviction. with the understanding that no matter what decision you make, it has to be correct. it just has to work. it has to... if you don't believe it, then who else will? okay, it starts with conviction. check.

it continues with respect, for yourself, the decision, and the people it will affect. mass murder is not necessarily the most rational decision, as we have seen displayed in the holocaust. it kinda makes people angry.

and i guess lastly, at the end of the day, invincibility is the capability to walk away from destruction with the knowledge that will eventually allow you to thrive again. lessons are there for a reason, and it is proper to, in the case you were wrong, to learn from those decisions and know not to repeat them.

well, shit. under these circumstances, it looks like i may not need an invisibility cloak after all, or the nimbus 2000. it seems my lightning bolt-shaped scar is found inside of me... and as it turns out, i'm looking more and more like a pheonix anyway. to burn and rise again, i guess.

oh, but harry potter, you will always be my hero.

~k.

old friends

2011-03-02T12:23:00.000-08:00

i miss you, and i wish i still knew you.

life sucks, sometimes.

k.

here's what i say to your stupid travel-guide pamphlets.

2011-02-24T14:44:00.000-08:00

the moons must be out of order in venus or something. i don't know much of anything astrological other than i am a saggitarius, and that i'm also the new sign, which i'm pretty sure is pronounced oh-FUCK-us... but there's something going on in the water i'm drinking, or the moons that hang over my head on clear nights, or the dreams that somehow haunt my subconscious when all i want to do is sleep...

like, what the fuck, universe?

it's bad enough that there is a paper trail that follows me around on a DAILY basis reminding me of how i wasn't good enough, or that my other friends' relationships are chipping off like a bad paint job on stucco. but you really have to just go and push buttons, universe, that were left to rust with dying words.

sometimes things are too coincidental to be coincidence, and when it happens enough, it's just not as funny as it was the first couple times around. 2011 is a year of power for me, i know this. 2010 can go fuck itself with a splintered toilet plunger. but 2011, no, it's going to be a reversal of everything that karma threw back in my face last year.

cause honestly, i just don't care anymore. i had to stop caring about these things before they consumed me. yeah, so what... a couple "friends" dicked me over. who gives a shit? it'll happen to them. they'll get that paycheck in the mail one day. and so what... a couple boys turned back before the finish line. i'd love to shake the hands of the girls that get stuck with those hurricanes of crazy.

no, i'm good where i am. i am giving love and respect to those that want it, those who deserve it, and who appreciate it in their lives. i don't feel like i'm wasting time because i'm exploring and reading and learning and loving all of it. i'm so far down the road that those potholes look more and more like pebbles in the asphalt behind me.

no more weird moon play and off-kilter water for me. i'll open the bottle of wine myself and watch a movie from now on instead.

k.

alternate

2011-02-22T12:34:00.000-08:00

the prophecies, these
lovely little links
to the ink
inside our minds,
unravel like the yarn
from that damn ugly sweater
of life, right
before our eyes;
we spit them out
and get emails back,
of the ties
thought broken so
long ago.
our ideas get crushed
and inflated again, just
to begin
in a different light, on
a different night,
in a different town
and a different time.
"right" changes with
each "wrong", pushes
words into the verses
of the songs
that end up looping
in our heads like
a halo, and
lends us sanity til the
next day's dawn.
where did all of these rights
go wrong?

k.

revising the standard

2011-02-20T10:15:00.000-08:00

i used to get teased by this boy in the sixth grade because i was flat chested. he relentlessly reminded me how, if flipped upside down, i could be an excellent snow sled. it upset me not because i wanted big tits, but because i was concerned that no man would ever like small ones... which meant i was going to be alone forever.

i didn't really understand the concept of forever at eleven. forever meant until high school, probably, and obviously i got over the phobia. it turns out that a lot of men like us un-busty girls, and i don't have to go out and get a funbag surgery to find true love.

mainly because i'm pretty sure it doesn't exist. but that's just the cynic in me, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

no, no... i actually refused the same boy sex about eleven years after the teasing had passed, and was able to use an alternate reason by the same guidelines as his jeers, yet to his adult face, which i'm going to go ahead and say it vindicated me wholly. i barely remember middle school and all of those awful things that were done to me now, because i'm older and i don't care anymore.

cause i still can go and get a breast augmentation to make my chest bustier. there's nothing you men can do about the size of your member.

sucks for you.

i would say we always want what we can't have. but this wasn't about that. it was me hoping that one day, i would find someone based on what they saw that they loved inside, and not date me just to have a good picture taken.

i went to atlanta to perform with my old burlesque company last week. i stayed in the apartment that my ex and my ex-friend moved into when i wouldn't get back together with him and he had to accept his sloppy seconds, who last year i was actually able to tell to fuck off in her own apartment. that was lovely. now my friend davi masi lives there and the whole energy was light and airy... such a welcome change. the weather in atl was beautiful, too, a breezy 50 most days i was there. i drank with old friends, cleaned up some dirty laundry, and went shopping in little five points. i got my hair cut, performed in a couple shows, and remembered who i was before moving from the south.

it was nice to get away from the city, from certain ghosts that i just can't seem to shake. and during all of this, i realized no matter who i was in the past, flat-chested or otherwise, i have been loved for who i am and not for my cup size. granted, i've been tossed aside because of it as well, but no one an ever say they broke up with me because i was too flat. and in the wake of losing the one thing i thought was real a year and a half ago, i can certainly say i have never felt stronger.

i don't give a shit if you don't like my chest. i think it's great, so suck on that.

k.

why tonight?

2011-02-18T02:37:00.000-08:00

ever notice how things seem bigger than they really are?

like, i'm standing in my kitchen, right, and the table and the stove and the fridge look CRAZY big. and then i thought, is it just that i'm really small right now? like alice in wonderland small?

but then i realized i wasn't small, and the fridge was normal, and it just happened to be my life had suddenly and unexpectedly been inflated.

i know now it was just the stars exploding like roman candles across the sky.

k.

it's in the passed

2011-02-11T10:35:00.000-08:00

maybe guilt has gotten you nowhere, maybe you need something stronger. maybe you don't believe in people walking away, because swinging at the end of a rope for awhile is fun, according to you. maybe you thought you could change the world by opening your legs, and when you found out it wasn't so, you had already committed so you couldn't say anything. maybe no one has ever told you there are more people besides you in the world. maybe you decided you didn't like the color white so instead of never wearing it, you murdered it and hid the body. maybe you like the power, cause all it does is attract attention. maybe you weighed out your options and came to the conclusion you weighed more. maybe there was nothing there to begin with except a hole and when you found the ladder you kept it for yourself to climb. maybe the silence was beautiful so you kept that, too.

maybe there were things i never knew. but it's because it started with guilt, and then just ended.

maybe i need a vacation.

k.

icarus girl

2011-01-27T10:53:00.000-08:00

stupid, girl, you
never learn,
you break the wings
and fall in flames,
these pretty things
smash to smithereens.
what masochist hands
build the bricks to lay
bad bridges.

k.

sex (not) in the city

2011-01-25T09:17:00.000-08:00

so recently, my life has kind of been dedicated to an establishment known as the house of yes, or HoY. i have been silking, stilting, costuming, pasty-ing, designing, playing, and laughing for the last month.

it's nice to be somewhere that pulls you in, and doesn't ask questions about your reasoning encompassing your desires. HoY is a modern-day haven in such a politically correct world, simply asking the artists that dwell, work, and live there to be honest and uncensored when creating and performing. and i feel lately, that this is the first time i have felt comfortable enough to do so.

it feels fucking good.

characteristically, when i choreograph i use humanity as a base. much of my movement is pedestrian and tends to relate to human interaction and reaction. but i have always been told when people watch me dance that i (ahem) "exude a certain sexuality", which used to make me outwardly uncomfortable when said in front of other people(albeit secretly pleased). and now that i have been choreographing more sexy dance, i can see that my work in contemporary ballet is also taking on strong sexual notes as well. this is a good thing. it's cultivating choreography inside me, new movement i feel i have always had but has been collecting dust deep in the trenches of my mind. it's taking an innate base of my personality and allowing it to... erect, perhaps?

;) freud would be so impressed with my cognizance.

so 2011 is starting out better than 2010, for sure. i have a good feeling about this one. i'm all about recovering the relics, and putting them to good design. vintage is sexy, and i'm putting my vintage out there for the world to see.

sounds hot, doesn't it?

k.

on to the next one

2011-01-12T15:02:00.000-08:00

is there ever a proper time to say "i told you so?"

or does it sound smug in all accounts?

i think everyone has the right to think they are the "chosen one"; that they are the one that will change the world, who's ever it may be... that they can breathe life into a drowning victim or kill off the fear in a schizophrenic.

i have felt that i was that person before. granted, i was incredibly wrong, and found myself at the first rung of the ladder again climbing my way back to the top.

it's important that everyone feels feelings of grandeur. necessary, even. because without that idea that we are great, we could never realize that, well... we really aren't so great.

the problem is, is that even if you want to save someone, it's not up to you. we tend to neglect that. people only change if they want to, and even if the catalyst is you it's not you saving them. it's them saving them. you can walk a person to rehab, to the front door of college, to the bank to deposit money, or to the deli to give them food. and no matter what, the only person that can stop drinking, go to class, save money, or put fuel in their body... is them.

"i told you so" does sound pretty smug, albeit the fact that it's fitting. but i think what's might be more effective is, "you knew what this was."

we all know what things are, deep down. even the things that we think will work out, if we step back and look at them, there's bound to be a red flag somewhere in the mix. point the finger at yourself, make the decision to be more aware, and start climbing the ladder again. the only thing that influences the next climb is the knowledge you take with you from the last one.

k.

a mouthful of coins

2011-01-05T21:24:00.000-08:00

the silence is golden
it's a good color
on you, almost as good
as it looks on me...
so pretty, so
gentle.
all over
so humble.

beautiful muse,
but...
your smoky mirrors
are no match
for mine.
your gold will sooner
cap your teeth
instead of grace
your palms.

k.

cleaning the slate

2011-01-02T20:13:00.000-08:00

how does this shit happen to me?

last year on new years, i was face to face with the man who left me in pursuit of better things, in my deli, ordering pastrami. this year, i was in fact stating that i never came to the morgan stop on the L train anymore because i was apprehensive about running into my ex, who used to live around there... and as i turned the corner, i literally almost ran into him and one of his friends.

what the fuck, universe? why do you insist on doing this to me?

last year, the universe decided it would be funny to drop someone who has affected me more than my favorite snack of pickles and cheese, someone who claimed himself that he never hung out in brooklyn, someone who just was clearly not that into me and didn't know how to just say so... the universe dropped him into my random corner deli to buy orange juice as i was buying pastrami. didn't see him before that, haven't seen him since. but the omen was apparent.

tonight, walking to my good friends' house deeper into bk than i usually go, i am TALKING ABOUT the other ex who fucked with my head in a different manner equally as bad as the year prior to, and we almost do a body slam on the sidewalk.

tomorrow i am taking a sabbatical from the life i lived last year. i am going to put space in my joints and smiles in my mouth. i am going to fuel my body without whiskey and (try to) breathe nicotine-adultery free breath from my lungs. i am going to climb silks into the sky and spin golden webs in the lyra.

sometimes, being looked in the eyes by your past can be a very, very good motivator.

k.

blizzard

2010-12-31T12:26:00.000-08:00

it's a simple this, a
sleepy little town
somewhere in north carolina,
somewhere under the
pounds of snow, melting
into ice, fingers
playing hooky from
our gloves under coats;
an unexpected this, a
this that can make the
breastbone warp a little, make
it feel wrapped in worn
wool and warmed between
paper-thin walls...
a this that shows
the cracks in the
foundation, but
doesn't itch to be healed
or plead to be saved; it's
getting lost and leaving
light behind, blazing
trails and burning snow
behind us, border to
border, palm
to palm, minute by
minute, taking the
bus to town and
leaving the luggage in
motels, the only
weight, some
change in our pockets.

k.

360 degrees

2010-12-14T09:31:00.001-08:00

another year.

another one? how are these days sifting through my fingers like sand through the pinch? when did minutes become milliseconds?

it's been over a year, here in the city. well, brooklyn. MY city. manhattan is what i see from the bridge, what i walk through to get to work, where i perform... brooklyn has been a much kinder friend to me. don't get me wrong... the first time i coached a student in the city, so close to broadway i could smell the desperation in the background dancer's sweat, i realized how much i had dreamt of that moment. how every step of every city i have devoured has led me here, and how one day, i will have my loft drenched in sunlight from massive windows and brick walls.

one day, manhattan, i will come for you. but right now, i'm having an affair with brooklyn, and you will just have to wait.

that's right. you will just have to wait. it feels good to say that and not have it be said to you. to wake up and know that all these decisions are mine and mine alone. i don't have the time to waste on waiting around.

my twenty-eighth birthday was yesterday, and i'm looking ahead with wide eyes and and open palms.

i will grab your hand when i want to. you will wait for me, now.

k.

heady

2010-11-30T00:35:00.000-08:00

drop the ropes, VIP
you see,
the bulbs, they flash,
and blind,
and tease; you
pull the cord,
the vest inflates, the
smiles, how they
cooperate.
this world is fake,
and trite, and
true,
and though i'll never
get to you and your
bulldog smile, your
gilded eyes, these
diamond-dripping
fingertips,
at least you'll have
security
that you were never
meant for me, and
barrel on, barrel through,
cause i guess
neither was i meant
for you.

k.

i guess it's over

2010-11-25T02:05:00.000-08:00

hate it as much as i
love it
ren ren ren
jesus, does it break my ribs
but jesus does it make me
elated
just to see you smile
i hate it
but i love it
and i hate that.

k.

the top three

2010-11-09T14:56:00.000-08:00

i had one of the top three craziest nights of boyfriend drama i have ever had in my life on saturday night. now, to be fair to my definition of my "top three", i must explain that more or less, my top three are equal to each other in certain ways, and are filed exclusively to topic headings like, "top three best chick flicks" and "top three favorite salts". i have a plethora on the hard drive in my brain, so even though some might seem similar, they are quite contained to the individual headings.

my "top three craziest nights of boyfriend drama" in the past, however, has usually just been exclusive to MY current boyfriends. saturday night actually didn't have anything to do with my boyfriend, because i don't have one anymore. i have an ex-boyfriend, and he did add to the drama, but only after i could go through two of my girlfriend's boyfriend drama first. so technically, saturday night should be filed under "top three craziest nights of drama from men i don't want to sleep or argue with and from a man who didn't quite try hard enough but still made me feel bad about breaking up with him".

i think i'm going to rename that file "topthree_ex/altboyfriend_drama.exe" in my mental processor. i can save some memory room for things i should actually think about.

it began at work, which puts me in a bad mood immediately because for some odd reason, people still want to drink frozen kiwi margaritas and mojitos, even though it's a windy 42 degrees outside. this is the season for mulled cider and hot toddies, both of which i can make. but what would make less sense in cold weather than to have a hot drink? so i spend seven hours at the service bar cranking out what looks like cocktails for the beach party upstairs and re-stocking everything the waif of a bartender couldn't reach or lift from the morning shift. i clean all of the sticky, margarita stained countertops and steel from the frozen machines until the bleach stings my skin, and count my drawer, near crying at having to put all of the money back into the drop bag.

i could never be a banker. i would be so, so depressed all the time.

anyway, as i'm regretfully zipping the bank bag, i get a phone call from my dear friend erin asking me to guess who just showed up at her doorstep?!? now, i'm not really one for these kind of games, because in actuality, it could be absolutely anyone, from barack obama to a psychotic ex-con who wants to draw you after he does an eight-ball of coke.

guess which one happened to me?

so i guessed her ex-boyfriend, because he's been doing that lately. she had found out he made out with some other chick (actually, she found out from me) and she told him she wanted to take some time away from him. in fact, the night before he had shown up at her doorstep and threw a bag of bacon at her, screaming, "i got you bacon instead of flowers cause i know how much you love bacon but you're a complete and total bitch!!!"

so, i'm no expert on this type of thing, cause i can't even seem to hold down a decent, responsible, and stable relationship. but i'm pretty sure playing faceball with a bag of fried pork is not the way to go when it comes to proving your love and sensitivity.

actually, it was our good friend rachel, who is dating one of erin and my (now) exes best friends. and she's drunk. and pissed off at all three of them. sighing, i hailed a cab and went to erin's apartment. i knew in the back of my mind that nothing good was about to become of this night, and sadly, i was exactly right.

macri park, 12:45 am.
we walk in, get three shots of jack and three buds. go outside to smoke cigarettes and bitch about manginas. a guy tries to sly his way into conversation (which is dumb, buddy, cause if you hear a woman say, "god, men are such PUSSIES!!!" you would think you may want to find another group of girls to hit on), and promptly gets shot down by rachel, who by this time is having a resurgence of her previously waning drunkenness, and the two begin to bicker. we all go back inside and proceed to do another shot of jack and finish our beers, and when i come out of the bathroom afterwards, rachel and the dumbass are in another heated argument. i tell the guy to stop being a dick and let it go, and we all leave, arm in arm.

barcade, 1:27 am.
i realize it is 1:27 am because i look down and remark, "holy shit! it's 1:27 am! it feels like ten o'clock!" three more shots and two more beers later, we are sitting at a table and making fun of a guy who is sitting with us but is so engrossed in his text conversation he doesn't realize we're even there, much less making fun of him. his friend comes over, and they actually are decent guys who can hold a decent conversation. erin tells me to go call her (now ex) boyfriend. i say no, that's probably a bad idea, seeing that he just told her she should date me because we spend so much time together anyway. finally i relent, and it was a bad idea. now her (ex) boyfriend is mad at me and her, and she gets upset and goes to the bathroom to call him. i get another shot of whiskey.

barcade, 2:30 am.
i literally can't believe it's only been an hour since we walked into barcade. erin's in the bathroom crying, rachel is bitching drunkenly about her boyfriend, and my whiskey is gone again. erin hysterically comes back from the bathroom saying that he broke up with her and i call a time out for a cigarette. hail a cab for rachel, tell her to go back to meet jason at their apartment in greenpointe. hold erin's hair back as she pukes on the sidewalk. get a call from rachel's boyfriend screaming at me that i did something to his girlfriend, they got in a fight, and now she's roaming the streets of greenpointe drunk. says i was the last one that rachel saw which is why they got in an argument (which actually, isn't true, because technically he was the last one rachel saw and he provoked her earlier which is why she was pissed in the first place, but, hah, technicalities i guess). says he will break my kneecaps if i don't get my ass to greenpointe and help him look for her. i hang up on him. i get a phone call from my ex saying he's dealing with the same shit with the other two guys. says he would like to see me, if i would want to. i say i will call him if it seems plausible.

lorimer st, 3:50 am.
i finally manage to get erin's face dry, and convince her it's best she not go to huckleberry bar, where the exes are, but instead go home and get some sleep. once she's safely inside her apartment, i call my ex.

huckleberry bar, 4:10 am.
see everyone on the street. tell erin's ex he should reconsider giving up on the relationship, that she truly loves him. he responds in slurs, he is currently shitfaced. tell them i just got threatened with kneecap death, my ex calls rachael's ex, she picks up, says that everything is fine. i take his phone, go inside the closed bar to get the last drink of the night (which turns out, i only had enough time to take a sip of considering what was about to happen), make a u-turn to use the restroom.

the bathroom of huckleberry bar, 4:17 am.
as i'm getting off the ex's phone, i try to exit out of the phone call and instead got into the text inbox, showing conversations mostly from me, but one caught my eye at the bottom. on closer evaluation of what was about to happen, i guess maybe i shouldn't have read his shit, but then again, maybe he should have erased all of it. some people just don't know how to cover their tracks. i end up reading several different text messages from several different girls, which left me with steam coming out of my ears.
not because he hooked up with another chick, and not even for not coming clean about hooking up with another chick when i know for a fact that they did more than just "kiss on the couch". please. this ain't my first rodeo, honey.
i'm angry because about ten days before, he found out that while we were broken up, i had a drunken one-night stand, with someone i don't talk to or care about, because some guy paid attention to me and complimented me and made me feel worth it, which didn't happen all that much while the ex and i were together. so yeah, i had a disposable night of confidence, and washed my hands of it in the morning.
sometimes, the best way to get over someone, is to get under someone else. we've all been there.
but don't you dare berate me for it, and walk around on this golden pedestal, when you've been doing the SAME EXACT THING, even if it's not physical. don't form actual relationships with these girls and get mad at me for one night of carnal flamboyancy. that doesn't set well with me, especially when i apologize for something i don't think i need to apologize about.

the bar at huckleberry bar, 4:20 am.
i take a small sip of my jack daniels, and sit for one second before turning to him and directly asking about some girl's name i saw on the messages. he immediately freezes up, and i shake my head and tell him i'm leaving. pick up my purse and walk down the stairs, only to realize the gate has been locked over the door.

service doorway, apt. building next to huckleberry bar, 4:30 am.
for the last ten minutes i have been trying to get past the ex, and i'm currently screaming at him at the bottom of the stairs to let me go. finally he does, and in a last ditch effort tries to follow me down the street, but i don't turn around.
i was done for the night. i couldn't take any more stupid guy bullshit drama. i just wanted to be home.

my apt, 4:47 am.
get into the doorway and throw my things down. grab a glass of water and take a hit off the bowl. laugh to myself about everything that just happened, and realized why i didn't want to be in a relationship in the first place, because i end up caring too much about the relationship and not enough about my own sanity. it's five o'clock in the morning and i'm so hopped up on adrenaline my brain might actually explode if i tried to go to bed. which means when i finally do go to bed, it will be pointless because i'm not going to end up sleeping well, i will probably sleep in until three, and be completely unproductive and angry at myself. it's a vicious cycle and i hate doing it.

so i didn't. i ended up going to house of yes, where there was a dance party going on with all my friends. i danced it out until 7 and went home exhausted and much, much happier.

so that was my crazy drama night. i'm not wanting to ever add to this list agin, which means i may be single for the rest of my life, but at least i'll be sane. i have no desire to cater to someone's needs like that, while i lose my own. and i may sound bitter, but i'd like to think that actually equates to wisdom in these situations.

it also kind of sound like i'm jaded, too, but i think i'll just stick with calling it wisdom. it sounds much more eloquent and graceful that way.

k.

...and i got the t-shirt to prove it

2010-11-05T08:30:00.000-07:00

you know what's not fair?

this last couple months. this last couple months can suck a giant cock, cause i've had to be the bad guy, like, all the time.

"i'm sorry, but i won't be able to pay rent til the middle of the month. AGAIN."

"well, i think we need to take time off from eachother."

"what's that? oh, you're not hiring?"

"mom, i need to borrow some money so i can pay rent. i know, i'm sorry, i know..."

"so what if i slept with someone else? we were on a BREAK!!!"

"sorry, i can't teach class, i have to work the day shift so i can get a metro card."

and so on, and so forth.

when 2010 hit, i told myself, "this is it. this is going to be MY year. i can feel it."

and on day one, on the first fucking day of 2010, buying pastrami in my deli, i was slapped with a clusterfuck of an omen. a tattooed archangel, a beautiful monster, a shiny black diamond, mr tennessee... whatever cliche i want to use, he was standing there on the FIRST FUCKING DAY OF THE YEAR.

are you kidding me? in brooklyn? a month after i could go a day without thinking about his burning paper words and stupid sage green eyes? two weeks after the birthday i spent alone? one the first fucking day of MY year?

pity party, table for 1.

now, it hasn't all been a bust. i've had good days, i've actually had great days, where i feel successful and i book gigs and i teach class and laugh with my best friends. but fuck, man. some of this shit just seems so fucking unfair.

un·fair
[uhn-fair]
–adjective
1.
not fair; not conforming to approved standards, as of justice, honesty, or ethics: an unfair law; an unfair wage policy.
2.
disproportionate; undue; beyond what is proper or fitting: an unfair share.

hm. beyond what is proper or fitting. not conforming to approved standards. disproportionate. looking at these definitions, it actually seems that my definition of unfair may be too personal to compare to someone else's. if something is so particular to our own standards, then how, really, can it exist?

is it fair that mr tennessee told me he didn't feel about me how he made it out to be? no. but i've been on that side too, and i guess it wasn't very fair of me.

is it fair i lost my job because one of the old staff members came back from chicago? no. but i quit a job four months later after only two weeks with the company because my schedule wasn't working out, and they were the loose end just like me at the other place.

is it fair that my ex enjoys fucking my close friends? no. but it wasn't very fair of me to expect him to grow up at the same rate that i was when we were together, which in turn pushed him to people closer to his age.

fair and unfair only exist to who's being affected. and i guess i've said, "but that's so unfair!!!" more times than i've liked to admit, which is in its own right, unfair. some people will never see eye to eye on their perceptions of fair, and therefore, will never agree on what could be considered "right" or "just".

am i doomed to constantly questioning my morality? to trying to defend my ideas of what i think is right? why can't people just agree with me? we'll form a socialist community of my mind. SCOMM. has a sweet little ring to it.

"We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens."
~Chuck Palahniuk

i'm not special because of what i think is right or fair or just or bad... everyone has their own ideas of what's unfair, and it's becoming more and more clear that "unfair" seems a lot more like an excuse to pity ourselves rather than evaluate which direction we can go to make what happened better.

life's shit, and then we die. might as well fuck the unfair and rise to the occasion.

k.

death in the front line

2010-10-28T11:41:00.000-07:00

our armies advance, they
do not know
the meaning of
"death in the front line", and
even if they did,
they wouldn't care...
me, up on my
high
horse, gun in it's
holster and knife in
my hand, me
with my shiny medallions
and generals' stars, me
with my hardened heart
and weathered, leather
skin; i
yell to the front line
CHARGE
and they do,
and you,
with your small words
and buttonless vest, you
with your blue-eyed
vacancy and penniless
pockets, you
die by the front lines hands,
trampled by the charge
of a general's chance,
killed by a war
of worlds and circumstance;
and i, in my
fancy blues and
sly smile, i
mask my disappointment
behind the glint
of a blood-soaked sword.
i guess your death
prevents you seeing
my award.

k.

2nd star revelations

2010-10-27T11:26:00.001-07:00

okay, it's fall.

my one year anniversary has come and gone, my hair has been dyed three different colors, i've failed two relationships swimmingly, and drunk myself into a stupor more than i would like to admit.

i have relished the beautiful nyc days in the sun and jumped in puddles in the soaked-to-the-bone rainstorms; have and been wooed by those more financially stable than i; experienced the loss of friendships and the gain of people promising to be more faithful than the ones fading into the years.

when i went to san francisco, i experienced a turbulence i had never before tasted. dad's cancer, loading and unloading a moving truck filled to the brim with my shit, adultery, and rocky finances. i swore it was going to get better. then, i shook off atlanta and took on boston, which was a lesson on how things could become even more intense, and to the realization that conservative men really like me for some reason (that's what i get for working right next to harvard, i guess). on to new york... new york.

new york has tied together some of the loose ends... not financially, as i'm struggling every day... but ends that i made into other things, ends that i put up on pedestals. the city has forced some of my projections into translucency... and even though that's a really scary thing, at least i know the truth from my fantasy, which can be relatively thick, like a fog in my brain.

never judge a book by it's cover.
things are NEVER what they seem.
value someone's intelligence over anything. for better or for worse, you will learn exactly what they can be capable of.

i need to listen to these little stars behind my ear more often. and after a year here, in a hardened city with a beautiful, sunlit skyline... they have weaved their little lessons into my life with every heartbreak, every job loss, and every let-down that has introduced itself to me.

sure, i still think about the man who cracked my ribs apart with a couple sentences, the friend who gave me up for a pipe-dream romance, and the boss who fired me over the phone.

but i'm still here. i'm still doing something. i'm still landing jobs and dancing and laughing and loving.

fall is here and soon it will be gone, and i'll get to play in the snow and go ice skating in central park with nat. and i'll still be smiling, even if it doesn't seem like there's anything to smile about.

things are NEVER what they seem. :)

k.