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wBillieupool |
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Hi.
My name is Kate.
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wWednesday, April 30, 2003 |
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So part of the dirty pleasure of having a blog is getting to witness the odd perversions of strangers.
Here are some more classic examples of search queries that have turned up my blog:
chedder cheese pictures
student + adult diaper
shirtless Thad
shirtless undershirt
sex in the forest
smack + poetry + naughty + girl
freckles are very ugly
"Spruce Up" + crack
folding clothes and robot
And, really, the last one says so much, doesn't it?
posted by
Kate at 11:46 AM
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wThursday, April 24, 2003 |
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LIFE IMITATES ART
There was rain, unrequited love, a nude model, and uncontrollable circumstances. So my life has become a movie, has it?
I had thought -- this is it. I'll give him my phone number today. It's the last day of life-drawing. If he's not interested, if he rejects me, it'll be okay because I won't have to draw him nude anymore. I won't even have to see him again. So I'll wait until he has all his clothes on and then I'll ask him about his summer or invite him to the concert tonight or tell him that I think he's an interesting person or something, anything. But the sudden rain...
During our fifteen minute break, a panicky Adam wanted to know if the concert tonight was cancelled or what so, after listlessly fidgeting through the last thirty minute pose, I decided to leave class early in order to go about getting the band moved from the amphitheater to indoors in the Adam's Center. And he was lying there still, fixed in his pose, his faced turned toward me, and just as I was leaving he opened his eyes and looked at me, hard.
I did the wrong thing. I should have stayed, but I smiled, walked away. The steel drum of my heart plummeted to my toes, and after all the requisite phone calls were made and everything was humming like normal, I walked through the rain back to Malone. I had forgotten my jacket -- classic. And was soaked and incredibly sexy and out of breath in that movie star kind of way, I'm sure. It was the perfect set-up -- he would have lagged behind for some reason, and upon seeing me stumble in, cold and wet and irresistible, he would wrap that wonderful body of his around me and kiss me, deeply. Yeah...
The class was empty, though. It was still raining. I didn’t know what to do, except come back here and fictionalize the moment by writing it down like this. But I’m a little heartbroken. I've messed up this time, folks.
posted by
Kate at 6:19 PM
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wTuesday, April 22, 2003 |
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I'm only seven classes away from graduating. How fucking scary is that?
posted by
Kate at 12:11 AM
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wSunday, April 20, 2003 |
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Because this is seriously the best song ever. And I will make mad passionate love to any man who ever plays it for me.
I'm that easy.
posted by
Kate at 11:55 PM
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wWednesday, April 16, 2003 |
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Yeah. See, it's definitely better already.
In unrelated news: I'm being inducted into Sigma Tau Delta tonight. It's going to be a costume party and I'm totally going as a ballerina. But not just any ballerina, no, that would be too easy. I'm going as a gay/lesbian activist ballerina. My costume (borrowed from my sister, hah) is rainbow themed and it's got the biggest tutu ever. The thing's like a fucking chastity belt. Nobody can come within two feet of me from all sides. This is a good thing. Believe me.
Off to Wal-Mart to search for a tiara and/or a wand.
posted by
Kate at 5:48 PM
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wThursday, April 10, 2003 |
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So yeah... I'm definitely at a stalemate here as to what to make of this blog. I obviously didn't really know how to make it a public arena. I obviously don't know if I want it to be. It's so diary-like at times, just another place to pour private words into a blank space, swirl them around like paints, sling and drip and rave like Pollack...maybe.
I'm losing faith in the way of things, in little things, in my needs and my desires and my drives, in the slender bare lines of winter trees and the superfluous frill of azalea bushes already falling into decay. I'm losing my way with all these words. I've become so obsessed with the act of becoming human that I've started, once more, to question the validity of these characters - how they so often are too small and inconsequential to help with anything at all.
Surely this hopelessness will pass - it always does. Surely I won't feel sick at the thought of poetry writing or slowing down the chaotic barreling of my pursuit of living long enough to slip beneath the heady roll and ebb of these continuous word-thoughts that thunder perpetually like a low roar in my head. I feel like I'm always looking for a fight, like I desperately seek out the sharp edges of the scenes I flee through, like I have to be bleeding or bellowing or striking out at something all the time just to escape the dull, dead weight of my limbs - how they just dangle helplessly from my shoulders while life is all around me all the time trying to get at me and get at me. I'm a fool because I fall prey to it. I look for trouble. I need to find it and live through it. I need it for my stories and my vision and my craft. I need it so that I can do something with my terribly, terribly short life.
But really, I'm a coward. I'm scared and I do things with my fear that hurt myself and hurt other people. I take risks. I make bad choices. I poison myself slowly. I neglect people who love me and seek out anyone who has no business to care for me. When I hood my eyes and look out into the bridge of my future I see nothing but endless choices, some difficult that will come of heavy consideration and preparation, but mostly, I see choices that will come of closing my eyes and leaping, my heart flapping somewhere above my body, my arms and legs flailing, fingers extended to touch something, anything that seems substantial enough to hold me up for just a few more moments.
And perhaps that's where I always wanted to be anyway - so close to an edge, any edge, as long as the fear is real and the view is beautiful. I never wanted to be too safe. I always feared my dependency on comfort and security. So - and here's the secret, here's the dirty secret of me, you are privy to it right now - when I do bad things, when I destroy everything around me, and when I finally destroy myself, I hope it will have finally been worth it. I hope these words are worth it, because, goddammit, they changed everything for me. They keep making and unmaking me again and again.
posted by
Kate at 1:44 AM
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