hear me roar

seriously? shut up.
just try it sometime, see what happens. maybe you'll hear something worth being quiet for.
maybe you'll listen.
maybe you'll cut the bull crap and tear away the facade that really isn't. maybe.


or maybe it's too late. maybe you're past all that now. it's too hard to tell past all the "la-di-da" and stuff. maybe it's become part of you.

sometimes I close my eyes and try to picture myself. often, all I come up with is the blackness of the insides of my eyelids.

I smell my memories and can honestly feel them. they are tangible.

but beside all that. point is, be quiet. what you say really isn't that important. it's frightfully annoying. you're filling the world with words that are just clutter. we all do that. I "word litter" every. freaking. day.
but you know what? enough is enough.
I don't care.
I'm done.
I'm out.
shut up.



AKA: pms meets hell week stress. lovely.

the day after

Today I ate candy for breakfast.
I frickin love halloween.

KerSPLAT

I wanted to snore during pre-calc. To cry when I saw the physics quiz questions that seemingly had no solution. To laugh when Fitz got up to dance during the village scene. To dance when I heard a trashy shania twain song on the radio. To eat when I smelled pumpkins. To fly when I walked to the park through a hedge of fall colors. To write when I saw the "new post" button on my blog.

The land behind my house is for sale. I'm terrified it will all be bought and developed into a subdivision with cookie cutter houses and kids with runny noes and soccer balls. OR that it will be bought by some rednecks who make it a trailer park of some sort. I'm pretty sure I'd prefer the trailer park. Walking today, I saw the for sale sign by the road. I kicked it over. It won't change a thing, but man did it feel good. Take that developers.

Thoughts of today:
1) I want to be a 4th grade teacher. English or science. Maybe even math. we could cut out cool designs and make skits for learning long division. This thought lasted for...oh, about a minute and a half. Then I recalled how scatterbrained and dysfunctional I'd be as a teacher. good one.

2) PUMPED for Christmas music to be on the radio. When I hear "Feliz Navidad" I will officially be in the holiday spirit. best christmas song, second only to radio version of "All I want for chistmas is you." Absolutely CANNOT wait.

3) ok with going to Calvin. don't actually have a clear explanation for this one, but it just seems ok today, not like the incestual end of the world. hm.

4) sophomore year was fantastic. I hated it then, but looking back: honors bio, forensics, B2T, Jack and the Beanstalk, King and I...what a party.

And thus, my vomit onto a blog post. amen and amen.

Here' s one for you

One night I woke up terrified believing a sinister-looking horse slash thestral was standing over me.

It turned out to be my sweatshirt.

Past tenses, present woes, future prospects

I can feel it coming.
I can feel it whispering, beckoning and calling.
Come it says. Come.
what are you waiting for?
I find I have no answer. Even if I did it wouldn't matter, for we don't speak the same language, the future and I. I speak in questions and riddles of the past. The future speaks in whispers and shadows and around-the-corners.
I cannot speak to it. But I can hear it. Feel it. It is coming for me.
I see it in my father's eyes. The anguish and fear, and sparkle of hope.
I can feel it in my sister, when she bows her head in sorrow. "Only one more year..." she says.
I hear it scoff as we sit on the floor with our old barbies, laughing. The future knows nothing of barbies.
I hear it crunch with the leaves under my feet walking into church this morning. Where will my footsteps land a year from now?
I read it in the applications, the endless selling of yourself to a faceless institution built of nothing but words. Come it says.
I hear it in my brother's sneeze. One after the other, the rhythm we all move to. How will I move without it? The future knows, but doesn't care. It is less interested in rhythm, more fascinated with tune.
I see it in my grades, the numbers and letters carefully charting each bubble I color in or essay I write. what potential, the future says. the things you could do...I hear it whisper these things. It makes me want to stop bubbling and start running.
You can't hide from the future. It will always find you, it knows all your secret hide-outs and remembers all your plans. The past tells it all your secrets and habits. You cannot lie to the past, and the past spills everything to the future.
I see it in my teacher's smile, my classmate's groan and friend's picture.
The future haunts us all.
But only because we let it. We ignore the present. The present doesn't care about the future or the past, although perhaps it should. But it doesn't. The present cares only for itself. It is a distraction, an illusion. Fleeting and fabulous, I give you the present. The gift.
My mother laughs from the kitchen, I hear a glass shatter. The present takes no responsibility. It comes, it happens, it moves on. It shapes every moment. It breathes.

The future is overwhelming. the past is solid. the present is fleeting.

And still, I hear it calling. Come...

Incoherent

shetalksjustlikemygrandmaalliseeisthegreenshirtandthewhiteandthewhispersthatstablikehoticejustdanceitwillbeokholycrap
justdancelettherecordplayblessedarethosepureinheartfortheyshallseegodcrushedandstampedbutstilldoingfineemptyishlame
bothsmileswerelethalsmearedmakeuponthecarpetalrightalreadyenoughdrivefasterdeclineonthedeclineewisemmajagerherewe
won'tstartthedanceuntilshecomesouthereohbabyareyouokerydaypunkinican'tstandhermanchildalerttheysaydon'tbediscouraged
don'tbediscouragedihadonelineandmesseditupraccoonhatspoohsticksanddogswholooksgoodtonightthreeguesseswhoclymbellwho
barnyardsandechosbubblesandheartsyouarenotokdrinkmazeltovlookatemdancinletskickitofftelepathicallymurderrecallswaylook
awayandtrynottocrycarrotsareeverywherechewedorangeandnastycookiedoughdietcokeprayercomplaingotlostagaini'mgonnalet
youfinishbuttheinverseoreosarefallingandcatchingphonecallsspeakerstractorsandcamerasbobbypinsfearcringingdidstrangerchevre
ireallyjustdothatcontaminatedicanfeelitinmybonessomethingwillhappenthatwillmakeitallokallthesingleladiesleaveandlivefree


Thus sayth my brain.

fizzled

I am constantly fascinated by specific circumstantial happenings.
Sometimes, I watch God watch me, and I have to laugh along.
I bet the angels all crowd around the portal to view my little life and giggle and eat popcorn.
I bet there are heavenly websites predicting my future, analyzing my past, and debating the worth of my actions. I bet the angels are just loving this:
"Kat's Life. Airing daily at 8/7 Celestial Time."

Madness.