wBillieupool Hi. My name is Kate. wArchives: -- HOME --

wThursday, November 29, 2001 The Sneeze I sneezed - Oh gross. How utterly disguisting, My diseased insides combusting And exploding through my nose Something icky, I suppose. It's so vulgar grandly vile How such mucus ladened bile Can be processed all the while My poor sickly glands compose Through my runny slimy nose Sprays of snot and sticky spit Spreading germs disease and grit Infecting others I confess With the groggy achy stress of the cold that I possess. Do you have a tissue please? For I feel another sneeze - One which I cannot repress. Dear god...my projects aren't even near finished and I think I'm hallucinating... posted by Kate at 8:02 PM w Yesterday, on the hazy rainbow fractured edges of sickness, my head was like a helium baloon and I spent all day feeling as if I were leading it around by a string. I was off in space for the most part, far below my usual awareness, but it didn't really matter because by 3:00 ... break for brief sneezing fit ...Miranda and I were on the road to Birmingham, and I was a drunk bird flying down I65 with Ben Folds in my head and direly foreboding tornado warnings at my heels. It didn't feel real until we actually walked into the music hall. I was pretty far gone by that point - too hyper to make much sense and too strung out to explain myself. I walked up to the t-shirt guy and, once my sickness-belated senses picked up on his British accent and his chizled good looks, proceded to engage him in a lively banter of the exact meaning of "Sham on" before I finally just paid for the damn shirt and walked away. Miranda was mortified. I felt like a bunny rabbit - very jumpy and quivery - and I'm sure I ceased to make any kind of logical sense from that moment on. It didn't matter too much though, except for when I mistook one of the stage hands for Ben Folds and proceeded to be the only moron yelling and screaming...even though I've always dissapproved of the whole "star-struck" concept. Anyway, the real Ben Folds was a lot younger, a lot less hairy and lot cuter than my look(sorta)alike stagehand, and he sure played the hell out of that music hall, exuding more charisma and excitement and entertainment than a magician and room full of elephants, giraffes, bunnies, and junkyard cars...or something like that. I dunno. I like my t-shirt. I had fun. I even enjoyed the drive. Very peaceful and relaxing. Go ahead. Puncture my head and drain it. posted by Kate at 4:02 PM wTuesday, November 27, 2001 Suddenly I was sprinting ahead, arms out on either side - good enough for wings - and the night was roaring past me like water and I was breathing as if at any moment I would begin to taste the air. I have never pretended to deliberate a static, tangible heaven. I have maintained the belief, for some time now, that the human brain is simply incapable of grasping the idea of time juxtaposed with place, especially what has happened or will happen along the infinite arrows jutting out from either side of our desperately short lives. But I do have a favorite description of heaven. The very last book of The Chronicles of Narnia describes heaven as a concentric mass of infinite Narnian worlds, each leading into a purer and more beautiful incarnation of the first. We follow the characters as they delve farther and farther into the condensation of heaven, traveling through world after world, swimming up waterfalls, scaling mountains like foothills, running as fast as they can without ever once becoming winded, cramped, without ever getting tired. Imagine that. Imagine the pure exhileration of running: how for a moment it's almost like flying - limbs pumping, vision blurring, wind rushing, faster, faster, faster, almost losing control and balanced precariously on the edge of a euphoric lunacy just at the prospect of so much speed and abandonment: the pure unadultered joy of actually leaving. Now imagine how it would feel to never be winded by it, to be able to pass by miles and miles in such a state. Jesus... posted by Kate at 2:02 PM wMonday, November 26, 2001 Spell your name backwards. Nosugref Ueillib Enirahtak Where do you live? Troy, AL and Alexander City, AL. Describe yourself in 3 words. Words. Words. Words. (no, really: words) Who is your worst enemy? Apathy. If you could have any animal for a pet, what would it be? A cheetah. Shame on me. Have you ever used a spork? Yes, at McDonalds when I was very little once. I think I ate an ice cream sunday with it. Do you even know what a spork is? Yes. Yes, I do. What is the latest you've ever stayed up? Most recently, 6:00 a.m. The latest (earliest) I've stumbled in after a night of pecularities: 2:00 in the afternoon. Ever been to Belgium? No, but I have a Belgium friend. What's your favorite coin? Silver dollars for the way they're rare enough so that when you come across one, as occasionally happens, you feel sort of special and try not to spend it. Underwear Mostly Victoria Secret string bikinis. Colorful, all. Bras: an ecclectic mixture of brands and kinds. Keychain Green leather license holder that holds much more than my license, keys to my car, to my dorm room, to my mailbox, and to my house in Alex City. In My Mouth *glug* Red Mountain Dew In My Head A very ominous cloud of stress and worry. Bigger than it should be even if I am a student and therefore naturally predisposed to such elements of the mind. I'm going to need a break, a resorting, and perhaps a couple of changings (big and small) in atmosphere and routine to fix this one. It's fixable, mind you, but it's very worrisome. Hearing Until 5 minutes ago: The Cranberries. This Wednesday: Ben Folds in Birmingham :-) Wishing For Lightly and absentmindedly: an empty bladder. Seriously: the time I need to bleed poetry. Pick up a book and write a sentence at random from it. "I am sorry to say that from the moment you have arrived in this class, my dear, it has been apparent that you do not have what the noble art of divination requires, Indeed, I don't remember ever meeting a student whose mind was so hopelessly mundane." --J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. Do the same with a lyric from a song. I just happen to like apples and I am not afraid of snakes. --Ani Difranco, "Adam and Eve." Quote from a movie. "The only true currency in this bankrupt world is what people say to each other when they're uncool." --Almost Famous. Have you ever tried to analyze your own dreams? Yes, but I usually only retain the smallest fragments of my often epic-like dreams. There have been some dreams so strange that I simply save them for humorous anecdotes because, well, I really can't see any meaning to them at all -- just the circus corners of my subconscious I suppose, just pure entertainment. What posters do you have in your room? Would you believe none? Soon, I'll have a poster from the aforementioned Ben Folds concert. Besides that, I've hung up a framed watercolor of mine and a poster-sized photograph that my mom took of a stained glass window in Georgia. Can you sing? I don't have a bad-sounding voice and can hit the key for the most part, but unfortunately, I don't have much of a range and my voice is pathetically weak, giving out on me when I sing for any extended period of time. What's your favorite color of post-it note? All of the bright colors. How many cassette tapes do you own? Four. All French lessons. Blegh. Ever bought a CD for just one song? Guilty. Have you ever lied to get off the phone? *sheepishly* uh, guilty. Have you ever written a survey? Nope. How about a song? Once. When I was 14. Just the lyrics, though I had a tune in my head for it. Or maybe a poem? *rolls eyes* Do I breathe? Are you addicted to Napster? Not now that it's been shut down. Ever been in an airplane? Yes. Once. If so where were you flying to? We were flying around Kitty Hawk. It was a tour that my late grandmother paid for as a gift to us when we visited the Outer Banks with her several years ago. What color are your shoes? The requisite brown loafers, blue/white (dirty) sneakers, tan boots, black hoofers...boring, really, especially for someone who claims to love shoes so much. Describe your bedroom. Ugh. The half of it that is mine: Clean (for the most part) and colorful and bright. Lots of blue. Lots of other colors as well. Would you ever shave someone's head? They'd have to plead. I think I'd shave my own head first. Name your favorite type of music. I can't do that. I just can't. Are you a vegetarian? Nope. But I'm definitely pro-vegetable. how about an aspiring actor/actress? Nope. I'm simply awful at acting. What famous person dead or alive would you interview if you had the chance? That's way too tricky of a question. I'd like to rumble through quite a few famous poets' heads, though. What movies do you have almost all the lines memorized to? Encino Man, The Goonies, Sleeping Beauty and The Emporer's New Groove. posted by Kate at 4:45 PM w Diary entry, 11-24-01: Outside: rain. We have gone weeks without it, and I have not missed it except for rare misplaced moments of nostaliga in its absence. This is the slow meandering pitter-pat sort of rain, perfect for last moment euphoric pud-muddle-jumping, good for the way it embraces with just the tiny hint of sting, for wetting the backs of your calves with folds of blue jeans, for running in wayward streams down the tip of your nose and gathering in light refracting droplets on your eyelashes to grow heavy and then blink and cast, flinging, away. I am unusually good at separating my life into moments, of being able to love the hot chocolate, bed-sheeted, overcast, comfortable goodness of a light rain storm in the face of an ominous week with deadline after deadline and no loopholes with which to scamper away by my oh so seductive methods of procrastination. Problem is, I feel as if I've simply run out of energy, of the ability to care enough to try. But I will make half-hearted attempts, and I will end this semester, return home in the folds of a gilted Christmas comfort, think of not much but pine smells and santa clauses and burning candles and colored lights... Exerpts from a new poem. What sort of magic makes words hit like this? Hurt? ... It never killed me that day-lit sobriety served nothing but steel between us ... and though you heft your torch above you, burning aflame like midnight America photographed from a satellite, you will never be Atlas ... I carry my world like grease smeared beneath fingernails. I scatter your dust with one cool breath because it is better to be the serpent than to be stoic, to have eyes for apples than dreams for illusion ... and it is better to be the one leaving in the birth-bright wash of morning... Not finished with it yet. Those are only selected lines. The poem is way too personal and angry, but I'm writing at least. And there are good parts. I will shed French and Earth Science like scales. posted by Kate at 12:49 PM wTuesday, November 20, 2001 Unconceding. Major wake up call. Anger because I trusted too much and it was futile the entire time. I never even began to understand how futile... It's hard for me to have faith in people. Generally, I have to be proven to. I have to have some sign, some clue that you're not going to disappoint me. Otherwise, I take you for face value and enjoy you for face value and never expect anything more. It's rare that I slip up and make people into something more than what they actually are. But when I do I feel lousy because it was my own fault, not their's, and I know I'm demanding with my friendships...but I have so few that are actually 100% genuine. So I'm stingy with the people I choose to really care about. Forgive me... Thank god for Josh. Who knew he'd be 10 billion times better to talk to until 6:00 in the morning like this? (with his tongue not down my throat ;-) But such revelations are nothing new. The genders have been screaching at each other since we evolved vocal cords. As of thus far it's still impossible to breach that rift. I am no different, and I recognize such. posted by Kate at 2:52 PM wSunday, November 18, 2001 It always hurts to leave him because such is our relationship that I never know how to approach him from one time to the next. Still, I let myself go long enough last night so that he may know I'm trying. Maybe now he'll try too. This is not a burning. It is not self destructive, nor is it violent. It is merely quietly unavoidable. I cannot control it. And I cannot rationalize it. Conceding to it now... posted by Kate at 11:37 PM wFriday, November 16, 2001 I feel like I could fall upward today. Like the sky's the ground. The sun's a burning. The sky, a piercing. And when they tackle you at once you either feel unbearably overwhelmed by such intensity or it becomes a cradle of sorts: a wrapping and rocking and holding. I am transfixed by sky and earth. Forever up or down. I could be flung into the crayola nether or sink down until dirt I become. Is dying the resolution of both urges? Sometimes I am more than human. Sometimes I desperately long to escape this skin, this flesh, these bones. Last night: Josh: I don't believe we've ever had a conversation that lasted less than 3 hours. Kate: I believe you may be right. And when Richie had me pinned down by his eyes I didn't know what do except panic. Panic. posted by Kate at 12:57 PM wWednesday, November 14, 2001 Tired now. The French test already half deleted from my mind. I've the rest of the day to get through...no, not just trucking onward blindly. I'm living, yes. But I cannot excuse the fact that I sometimes whiteout these awful required courses by the whirlings of my mind on such beautiful fall-cool blue sky days. I've got unpleasantries to systematically execute later today: I've got to writhe my way out of a horrendous Christmas Spectacular-esque dress rehearsal 2 weeks from today or Ben Folds will never be mine. Come on people! I'm 2nd from last clarinet. I'm absolutey dispensable. But will the omnipotent Ralph Ford buy that? I'm operating on a kami kazi method as I've already bought the concert tickets, made arrangements to get there and everything. Anyway, perhaps I can clear up a few personal matters tonight. Tonight. Tonight. And then perhaps I will be happy and feline and completely and utterly destructive with feminine charms...I'm just enough pissed off with the male gender right now to resort to that. posted by Kate at 12:49 PM wTuesday, November 13, 2001 It is too late to be awake and not studying for French. Instead I have been cleaning as if a there were a demonic spirit in me in need of exorcisement. ...if indeed that is a word: exorcisement. I am not a neat person. Clutter grows near me as naturally as fungi in a forest, but lately I have been painfully aware of my smallish living space and have been absolutely frantic about keeping it fairly clean. Clean, bright, colorful and as uncluttered as possible. This is a last ditch effort of mine to ensure that even if the rest of my life is going to hell I at least have this one semblance of order and control to grasp desperately. Who knew it would come to this? Last Monday I did some things very uncharacteristic of myself. And then Wednesday I admitted that I'm not as confused about my love life as I claim to be. And now I'm in limbo. Limbo. But I'm going to wait this time. And I won't quit him 'til he quits me. Clean, bright, colorful. I'm going to see Ben Folds in Birmingham in 2 weeks. I'll wait. I'll wait this time. posted by Kate at 1:45 AM wThursday, November 08, 2001 Hello world. I am new to you. I don't mind it, not even if you hurt me every now and then. posted by Kate at 12:32 PM wMonday, November 05, 2001 I had a nice weekend. I ate good food. I have 3 major tests this week. I will try. I will try. My boys are throwing a big party tonight. I'll go, but probably not for long. There are unresolved issues floating around that will probably only make me unhappy, and I don't need to be unhappy right now. So I'll make an appearance. I'll be sociable. I'll be friendly and speak to everyone even though there will be some who will no doubt make me want to run and hide. It won't be that bad, and I'll regret it if I don't go. I will. posted by Kate at 12:17 PM wFriday, November 02, 2001 Here it is: and I'm tired and a bit empty. Don't think I'm always sorry for myself. Don't think I'm always falling in love. Don't think I write nothing but sappy love poems. I write good strong poems and I'm getting myself back, bit by bit. I've just been shaken recently; that's all. But I'm barnacle-ing up again, so I'll be alright. Hopefully, from now on I can manage a sort of balance between feeling too much and not feeling enough. I think so. I think so. The night feels like liquid on my skin, like how on a hot, sticky summer's day you can submerse yourself in cool water and feel weightless as the currents flow over your body. It doesn't seem like November here at all. Instead, it feels like the first stiflings of May: just when the air has that suggestion of summer in it, when underneath all the delightful spring warmth there lies a sinister heat. It reminds me of how when I lived at home during that time we'd turn on the attic fan to save money on electricity bills. The living room area of our house has a great big window looking out to the front porch, and there are great big curtains that used to billow in with the sucking current of air streamlined to the fan. I would sit between the sill and the curtain: just that overwhelming blanket of cool flowing air and myself, brased against the dark of night outside, my back against the golden glow of lamplit fabric. How like a private world. How safe. posted by Kate at 2:14 AM wThursday, November 01, 2001 It's back to a pumpkin for me. Best pick-up lines for the night: "Youuuu look shhooo niiiiiccceeeee" and "You actually have a body!" I was a wood nymph for Halloween, but everyone thought I was Poison Ivy from Batman Forever. Whatever. Same principle behind both: seductress and epitome of desire. I just wanted to be the opposite of everyone's prefabricated conception of me tonight. It worked. Maybe too well. posted by Kate at 3:01 AM