Kitty Squish

Beef, garbage and celebrity fuckers.

admin — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 18:44:49 +0000

Sometimes it feels there is nothing in this world save beef, garbage and celebrity fuckers.

Stay Beautiful.

admin — Wed, 13 May 2009 23:30:21 +0000

This morning was one I do not care to repeat. In fact, the last week could be be characterized as “something to never in a million years allow to be repeated”.

However, one thing that did mean something to me was a random note I received on myspace.

It goes as follows:

The flood.

admin — Wed, 13 May 2009 23:18:08 +0000

I recently began listening to music that I haven’t in a couple years.

And my head is now drowning in memories full of humid Brooklyn summer nights full of fireworks,hipster-made Absinthe and emotions set in tumult from standing witness to that tragic fire-escape blunder….of Deuce Deuce Bomber birthday parties celebrated amongst tipsy drag queens, delirious fashion whores, and the young, reckless social deviants normally invading the scene…or the hot, heavy, and hazy pre-autumn afternoons being content alone with a camera and a few historical haunted tales.

I miss them all, these days that I’ll never have back. Somehow their memories have seemed to grow stale with the passing time…I can almost feel what it was like to live them, but it’s only a vague ghost of the experience, nothing more. Sometimes, I realize with horror that I’ve almost forgotten them completely! Had it not been for a song that I had chosen not to play for so long I may have let them slip my mind. For now I’ll grasp on to them, the remembrances of those fleeting summer days, and hold them tightly. No matter how dim these memories are in comparison to events in which they originated, to me they are still as beautiful.

Hold on to yours….

Love: an imploding star (another one of those terrible poems from the past)

admin — Mon, 04 May 2009 21:45:07 +0000

My Senior year of High School I took creative writing as an elective to ensure I had at least one class I could guarantee myself to enjoy after personally forcing myself to take Physics, Calculus and International Relations…two of which involve a heavy amount of math, something I am absolutely not good with and the other was not anything like what it’s name implies… remember current affair projects in elementary school? Yeah take that, stretch it to an hour long, get middle class high school kids to share their opinions as if they were important and end the trimester with a head full of geography but completely void of any thought provoking knowledge, like “Why so many more middle eastern countries now than there were 10 years ago? How did this happen and what are the future implications of those events in regards to our country?” Not THAT would have been something i would have imagined to be part of the International Relations curriculum!….
Alright, before I allow myself to drift off too deep into that tangent, I’ll get back to my originally intended subject to discuss. Creative writing and how it convinced my emotionally erratic teenage brain that I could or should ever write poetry and then go a step further by displaying where real people might actually read it. If those people were animals there would be some serious intervention from P.E.T.A due to the inhumanity of it all.

The poetry unit involved writing several different styles, genres, rhyming schemes and other such variations of poetry. We worked on an Imaginative Poem for one of the first assignments. Mrs. Durler, my teacher, read a bit of my poem over my shoulder and insisited that I read it out load…now, once you read the poem you’ll understand why I wanted to take my pencil and jam it straight into my temple.

For a high school student who had never been on a date I had a pretty tragic, distraught point of view of what love was like. I blame it entirely on my obsession with the book “Phantom” by Susan Kay…which to this day stands uncontested as my all time favorite book. as well as having some of my favorite reads to include, Victor Hugo’s “The Hunchback of Notre Dame” and “Les Miserables” as well as having been smitten by movies along the likes of “Moulin Rouge”, “Boys Don’t Cry” and “Vanilla Sky”.

I did it, I read the poem out loud. No one said a word. I was odd, and I figured they were all being nice. I pushed away images in my head of how ridiculous I could have looked and sounded.

Some time passes, maybe a week, we work on writing a sonnet. Our goal was to write a sonnet similar to the English Sonnets that Shakespeare wrote. If you want to know about sonnets go here

So I finish writing this sonnet and next thing I know friggin Mrs. Durler is telling the class that since my poem was so good the last time, that she’d like to hear this one as well, totally volunteering me to another round of humiliation.

So I read it.

Then I realize something. Holy shit, they’re about the same fucking thing. Tragic love story of two hearts so enraptured that their very love is what devises their fatal end.

Here they are now. The poems. First is the Imaginative Poem the second is the Sonnet.

Love: an imploding star

The two gazes halted and locked,
simply by mistake,
a jarring moment of discomfort,
then ecstatic wonder.
Two pairs of eyes fly,
meeting with violent embrace,
crackling as if conversing in static syllables ,
a product of their electric power.
singing in unison a low joyous hum,
like a resonanation of their magnetic pull.
Lashes frantic,
they flutter.
Iris’s deliquesce into puddles,
liquid pools of color,
melted from their own shared heat.
A crash.
A shudder.
A tiny mutter.
A whispered cry,
Two souls persish together.
Consumed by the insatiable hunger,
born in the belly of their volatile love.
Two hearts thrashed and scattered.
Cremated in a destructive wildfire of need,
progeny of their unbridled passion and tragic fate.
Star-crossed lovers ,
fade together,
die,
implode.
They leave behind only dreams…
of phantom murmurs of ardor,
pitter-patter echos of fluttering hearts,
and stars that fall so slowly,
like tears from a heartbroken sky.

::Sonnet::

5/23/2002

Forbidden Love

The glittering stars hold me in rapture;
Your innocent eyes awaken my smile;
I’d die to know your heart I could capture;
Please let me hold you in my arms awhile;
For just one night let me possess your soul;
When dawn comes I’ll release you forever;
Let me memorize each freckle and mole;
after tonight shall I see them never;

Oh, how cruel are these sick, sadistic fates;
Who watch the lives of mortals with great glee;
and take their pleasure in pulling apart mates;
then see lovers die for love not to be;
shall we ignore them and for one night lie,
and wait for the sunrise when we shall die?

::And I’m gonna throw this one in here for the hell of it….It follows the same theme::

5/22/2002

Death from a broken heart

After the strange requiem stops playing madly,
and the peices of my broken heart have been swept off the floor,
and my eyes are swollen shut from weeping,
then will I be free from the rememberance of you.

Here, try a sample, you might like something.

admin — Fri, 01 May 2009 15:31:50 +0000

I want to have these songs babies.

Ex Post Facto

admin — Fri, 01 May 2009 12:53:24 +0000

One of these things is not like the other….

admin — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 19:21:20 +0000

From The Starlit Journal:

Deconstructive Critisism 4/15/2003

The reflection is nothing but the shadow,
infused with the decay of every dead dream,
scored with the dull drone from every hollow sigh,
saturated in the light destitute hues of emptyness
is a display on every way a person can be “lost”.
it’s the girl they call “lonliness in a pretty package”,
the kind of soul they’ve always warned you of,
saying,
“Waste not your love on she who loves not herself”,
Still, how could they know?
With every time you see that
undesireable,
fraile,
pathetic,
ghostly,
outline of a woman-child,
the dead stare coming from that silver glass
comes from no other gloom filled eyes
but your those of your own?

Ok photograph show and tell:::

What one thing is missing from the three photos above …..

But shown in the the three photos below?

The answer: 15 lbs.

The fiirst three pictures were taken in 2005 at the epitome of my struggle with the eating disorder, Anorexia. I dropped to a mere 110 lbs (a life threatening weight to a 5ft 11in girl). I ate 300-500 calories a day, worked two full time jobs, ran miles 3 times a week at Crunch Gym, took any kind of diet pill I could get my hands on (usually Xenedrine) while also taking One a Day Weight Smart, L-Carnitine, Chromium Picolinate and drank cup after cup of either Green Tea or Coffee.

The last three photos were taken by my boyfriend earlier this month. In these photos It has been two and a half years since my recovery has been complete and as you can see, other than the slight added fullness to my limbs and cheeks, I really don’t look that much different….annd I’m 15-18 lbs heavier weighing in at 125-130lbs.

Now hopefully you haven’t jumped to any judgement quite yet. I never once believed I was fat or that I needed to lose weight. But no means to I think my figure has ever been unattractive.

This is a simple explaination of what happened.

I had a reached a breaking point from all the anxiety and emotional strain events in my life had buried me with. In an attempt to feel a sense (regardless of it’s authenticity) of comfort by gaining some sort of control. My form of control manifested it’s self as an Obsessive Compulsive form of Anorexia. Since I had lost so much control in all the other details of my life I created something that I could have a strict reign over. By obsessively controlling my weight and devoting most of my attention to it I gave myself a false sense of control and also invented a distraction from the heart breaking reality of my life.

It was really just matter of trying to put a lasso around my runaway life and letting go of my unhealthy method of escape.
I’ll never claim to have complete control, not will I deny that I will always have to be mindful of the tempting devices of escape and distraction that may briefly dazzle me.

But as for now, I’m no longer so underweight that given 8 more lbs lost and a little more time I could have made permanent damageto my health, or even the small chance of death.

I have much more I could say and I am open for comments, questions, concerns, ect on anything I have discussed. It’s a pretty heavy topic, and as someone who lived with this problem for almost 3 years I have access to my own first-hand experiences coping with it.

For the love of God, will someone please teach me photoshop?

admin — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 07:10:00 +0000

This is an utter travesty! The only thing I know how to do is Sepia filtering…and granted it always looks nice, I really need to be skilled at something more.

1920’s Cybernaut.

admin — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 00:23:04 +0000

I was sort of going for that “1920’s Stardust-Glamorized Cybernaut Girl” look when I cut it.

It seems I have always been a gypsy / a challenge for the drama-mamas.

admin — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 23:58:48 +0000

Ten Elementary Schools, Two Middle Schools and Two High Schools. I certainly didn’t have a problem becoming the new kid at school repeatedly. It’s no wonder I was so socially awkward, or why I eventually gave up on making friends as a kid….why they would point and laugh at me for playing tether ball or hand ball all alone during recess.

My mother was always running from something. Failed finances, Failed marriage, the law, addiction, memories….She instilled this way of living into me without intending it. It’s what I grew up believing was the best and only way to handle a problem. if things got too heated just get the hell out of there.

Maybe, not the best way.

I once wrote this:

August 2008

“Do you ever feel like you want to just start life all over? I miss the days of going to a new city, not knowing a soul, and building my life from scratch. Maybe this is just a symptom of growing up never living in one city for more than a few years….maybe running around and moving from home to home has ingrained that into me.

Or maybe my life has become such a mess that I crave that psychological “delete button” that moving seems to click.”

After reading this a year after posting it I can see how fucked up it really is and ,yes, I am sometimes bitter with my mother for the way she brought me up. But honestly, she did the best she could. It could have been alot worse, I discovered one morning while she and I ate breakfast around Christmas. She casually mentioned that she thought about getting an abortion when she discovered she was pregnant….Not exactly the most common thing to hear from your mother while you are eating scrambled eggs.

This post is random, scattered in thought, yes I’m sure I’m bound to receive criticism for it’s helter-skelter assembly. I must point out though that my entire life has been one enormously haphazard creation. However, I suppose this post has a moral. I’m done running, I’m no longer going to hide and I accept all the problems that the world may choose to throw at me. I may have lived like that for close to 25 years, but it ends now…

So I challenge anyone who dares to stir up the pot and create drama or give me grief…..Do your fucking worse, because you will go down, I guarantee you.