*Simply because I am in the mood to write but am tired of writing about sad things.
At the moment, I am digging on these guys- a sort of modern, slightly reggae, version of Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band. I even found a video of these two together!! I might have just had an eargasm. And of course I have a crushy-crush on the singer, a wicked musician Brian Fallon (and for a stunning cover- look up his version of Kelly Clarkson's 'I Do Not Hook Up' on BBCs Radio 1 Live Lounge).
I am dying to try my hand at ceviche. If I had even a little faith in my ability to handle and prep raw fish without killing everyone- or at least causing them violent, vicious tummy aches, I'd do it, too.
My dream home. Seriously. No, I'm not kidding even a little.
This dress. I know, I know. I have little to no faith in relationships, men (excepting, of course my beloved papa), the institution of marriage itself. I am hopeless, helpless, and haphazard in my idea of love. But every time I have a peek at this wedding gown, this wedding Line in general, I am reminded of the beauty of simplicity. J Crew has done a rather fine job in cornering the market on graceful gowns for us un-fussy gals. And no, I really have NO reason to be looking at this nonsense. EXCEPT that I am a girl and we sometimes do funny, irrational things.
The darkness of the forests of New England. Here I will wax slightly poetic. I do not have a link that I can post so I will use my gift of language to at least attempt describe it. I find that the forests in New Hampshire are often alive with a darkness that creeps alongside of you as walk or hike or bike or wander your way through them. That darkness is the most soul-jarring and inspiring and perfect reminder of the power of the natural world. It is not something that has been lost, here in this place. Nature still rules; and it rules in a way that is slightly sinister and entirely mesmerizing.
Okay. That's all for now, methinks.
Much love, My darlings- Until Next Time.. Be good, be graceful, and be WILD.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
New Hampshire
Or- Pain.I am house-sitting for a friend in Grantham, NH. For those of you who follow this blog but do not actually know me too well, I used to live and work in New Hampshire. It is, beyond a shadow of a doubt, one of my favorite places on earth.
It is peaceful here. And silent in the countryside. And the air is so clean, so crisp and verdant with life and love and the promise of healing that you can barely stand it. I can barely stand it.
Which is why it is so difficult for me to be here at the moment. Because a major, and I mean major, part of me has not even begun to heal. That part of me, the part that dictates most moments of my life, still loathes. I loathe. And I loathe myself. More than anything else. And I mean that- more than anything else in the world, I hate myself. It has been this way for some time but for some more recent time it has been increasingly distressing. I hate. And I can only hate myself. I can only feel violent hatred for my self.
So I look around at this place that I love, and I feel so much love for this place. But then I look at myself and it all goes away.
Aye- there's the rub. And the rub is exhausting.
Until Next Time, My Darlings.
Monday, July 9, 2012
The Language of Time
One Year. To the day.
Twelve Months.
365 Days (366 depending on how you count Leap Year).
What it is about the language of time? Some words make time seem everlasting and crawling/creeping/ancient and sloth-like and sluggish. It becomes a slow-motion entity when you consider a Year. Or 365 days- 365 Days?!?! That is a Year from Now!! An eternity of seasons; cyclical, cynical, constant! An yearternity.
But 12 Months... that is altogether different. 12 tiny months, each with their own holidays, meanings, moments. They are short. And sweet. And twelve of them make up the eternity of the year in nice, neat little packages comprised of evenly spaced weeks.
It has been exactly one year since my mental break. One year since the trigger was pulled and I began unraveling and turned inward to punish myself and everything about me that I thought deserved punishment- which was, is, essentially everything about me. One year since heartbreak.
One year of heartbreak.
One year of such self-hatred that I literally stole (and continue to steal) my own breath with the amount of pain I created (create) for and perpetuated (perpetuate) against myself.
And is not that another strange inflection in the language of time- past and presence tense? What is the past? What has passed? And what is the present if not a culmination, an amalgamation, of the past and passed moments?
What is today if not the end of a long year?
I hope tomorrow will be different.
I know tomorrow will be.
Twelve Months.
365 Days (366 depending on how you count Leap Year).
What it is about the language of time? Some words make time seem everlasting and crawling/creeping/ancient and sloth-like and sluggish. It becomes a slow-motion entity when you consider a Year. Or 365 days- 365 Days?!?! That is a Year from Now!! An eternity of seasons; cyclical, cynical, constant! An yearternity.
But 12 Months... that is altogether different. 12 tiny months, each with their own holidays, meanings, moments. They are short. And sweet. And twelve of them make up the eternity of the year in nice, neat little packages comprised of evenly spaced weeks.
It has been exactly one year since my mental break. One year since the trigger was pulled and I began unraveling and turned inward to punish myself and everything about me that I thought deserved punishment- which was, is, essentially everything about me. One year since heartbreak.
One year of heartbreak.
One year of such self-hatred that I literally stole (and continue to steal) my own breath with the amount of pain I created (create) for and perpetuated (perpetuate) against myself.
And is not that another strange inflection in the language of time- past and presence tense? What is the past? What has passed? And what is the present if not a culmination, an amalgamation, of the past and passed moments?
What is today if not the end of a long year?
I hope tomorrow will be different.
I know tomorrow will be.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Don't Look Down
I have this mantra that I follow- that I have followed since the time of my initial bout with anorexia. I say it to myself over and over and over. Daily, Hourly, Minute by Minute it hums through my brain, a constant companion.
Don't Look Down. Don't Look Down. Don't Look Down.
I get that it probably does not make much sense to many people why this would be my own personal mantra. It's the thing you say to the person doing the epic climb- who is afraid of heights; to the person who is bungee- or base-jumping for the first time; to the person who really did NOT want to be stuck on the rickety old Ferris wheel... especially when it stalls at the top.
For me it holds, of course, entirely different meaning.
To look down is to acknowledge the beast- the physical evidence of my disease. The breasts, the belly, the legs- all those parts that I so loathe. The parts that are too big, too rounded- too feminine and so very hated.
DON'T LOOK DOWN.
To look down means facing the abyss- the deepest darkest fall into the deepest darkest parts of my self, my brain, my psyche. The parts that cause me to HATE, to LOATHE, to toe a desperate line of self-destruction with every step I take. It means heartbreak. I look down and I am heartbroken.
DON'T LOOK DOWN. PLEASE DON'T LOOK DOWN.
And that is the name of the game- Don't look down because down is bad. Down is pain.
Until next time, Friends.
Much love.
Don't Look Down. Don't Look Down. Don't Look Down.
I get that it probably does not make much sense to many people why this would be my own personal mantra. It's the thing you say to the person doing the epic climb- who is afraid of heights; to the person who is bungee- or base-jumping for the first time; to the person who really did NOT want to be stuck on the rickety old Ferris wheel... especially when it stalls at the top.
For me it holds, of course, entirely different meaning.
To look down is to acknowledge the beast- the physical evidence of my disease. The breasts, the belly, the legs- all those parts that I so loathe. The parts that are too big, too rounded- too feminine and so very hated.
DON'T LOOK DOWN.
To look down means facing the abyss- the deepest darkest fall into the deepest darkest parts of my self, my brain, my psyche. The parts that cause me to HATE, to LOATHE, to toe a desperate line of self-destruction with every step I take. It means heartbreak. I look down and I am heartbroken.
DON'T LOOK DOWN. PLEASE DON'T LOOK DOWN.
And that is the name of the game- Don't look down because down is bad. Down is pain.
Until next time, Friends.
Much love.
Monday, June 25, 2012
NewsFlash!
Dear Hipsters,
It's the middle of the summer.
Lose the skinny jeans, ditch the knit hats, and find yourselves some shorts- they can even be from the thrift store.
XoXo,
Kate
It's the middle of the summer.
Lose the skinny jeans, ditch the knit hats, and find yourselves some shorts- they can even be from the thrift store.
XoXo,
Kate
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Summer Solstice
Happy Solstice My Darling Dears.
And Until Next Time..
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Some Days
Are Worse Than Others.
Some days are days that I want to let go of forever and leave behind me. But it never quite works that way- never works as I have planned.
Those days stay with me for as long as I want to forget them. They float around the back of my head, punctuating daily life with pain, misunderstanding, and self-loathing. They push me around and whisper terrible things.
Those days stick.
And they wound.
And they just won't let go.
No matter what I do, no matter how many lengths to which I go- travel to Iceland? Get another tattoo- hopefully one that will last? Starve?- those days stay with me. And even that is not the right amount of emphasis- they HAUNT me.
Some days are like poltergeists.
Some days are days that I want to let go of forever and leave behind me. But it never quite works that way- never works as I have planned.
Those days stay with me for as long as I want to forget them. They float around the back of my head, punctuating daily life with pain, misunderstanding, and self-loathing. They push me around and whisper terrible things.
Those days stick.
And they wound.
And they just won't let go.
No matter what I do, no matter how many lengths to which I go- travel to Iceland? Get another tattoo- hopefully one that will last? Starve?- those days stay with me. And even that is not the right amount of emphasis- they HAUNT me.
Some days are like poltergeists.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Northern Lights, A Bucket List, and the Pull of Motion
As I waffle about dropping an immense amount of money on a trip to Iceland (because I am a maladapt incapable of spending a significant amount of time in one place) I am reminded of several things.
The first of which is this 'bucket list' concept. I have wanted to travel Iceland for as long as I can remember. The history, the mythology, the beauty, the nature of the beast that is nature, the nature of the beast that is me- these components combined in me even as a 'barely pre-teen' of 12ish to send me on a bender. The desire to go to this distant yet so profoundly present place has been with me ever since. I even considered, at one point, studying the Nordic colonization of Iceland. In Iceland.
Then I realized I would have to learn several ancient languages and I am nothing if not lazy so that option went rapidly out the proverbial door.
The second thing of which I am reminded keeps the 'bucket list' alive. The Northern Lights. Oh God, I want to see them. I keep thinking 'I must see them before I die'. And who knows when that will be, especially considering my present condition. So of course I am leaning more and more toward Iceland because I can see them there. I can see them in their perfect, crepuscular presence. I can experience these auric appearances.
And that's the kicker, to be honest. The pull of motion for me is to run and run and run and experience, literally, everything I can. I know that I hate China and don't exactly have the warm fuzzies for Louisiana. I know that I love Australia, New Zealand, New England, France, Belgium and feel comfortably ambivalent when it comes to Germany. And there is so much more. So many cultures, so much LIFE, out there.
I cannot wait.
The third thing of which I am reminded is the the opening lines of a poem I wrote when I was in middle or high school:
We drove for hours last night
To see the Northern Lights.
Until next time, my darlings.
The first of which is this 'bucket list' concept. I have wanted to travel Iceland for as long as I can remember. The history, the mythology, the beauty, the nature of the beast that is nature, the nature of the beast that is me- these components combined in me even as a 'barely pre-teen' of 12ish to send me on a bender. The desire to go to this distant yet so profoundly present place has been with me ever since. I even considered, at one point, studying the Nordic colonization of Iceland. In Iceland.
Then I realized I would have to learn several ancient languages and I am nothing if not lazy so that option went rapidly out the proverbial door.
The second thing of which I am reminded keeps the 'bucket list' alive. The Northern Lights. Oh God, I want to see them. I keep thinking 'I must see them before I die'. And who knows when that will be, especially considering my present condition. So of course I am leaning more and more toward Iceland because I can see them there. I can see them in their perfect, crepuscular presence. I can experience these auric appearances.
And that's the kicker, to be honest. The pull of motion for me is to run and run and run and experience, literally, everything I can. I know that I hate China and don't exactly have the warm fuzzies for Louisiana. I know that I love Australia, New Zealand, New England, France, Belgium and feel comfortably ambivalent when it comes to Germany. And there is so much more. So many cultures, so much LIFE, out there.
I cannot wait.
The third thing of which I am reminded is the the opening lines of a poem I wrote when I was in middle or high school:
We drove for hours last night
To see the Northern Lights.
Until next time, my darlings.
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Obsessions- The Summer Series
I decided that since summer is getting ready to blossom with it's fullest heady heat here in the south, I would put up an obsessions list to go with. I have selected all of those 'things' that keep me all flustered and matching the ever-growing heat index around here.
To continue- I am completely and utterly obsessed with the following:
I have always had a soft spot, a weakness, a heart-stopping hiccupy crush, on dramatic music- Bat for Lashes, Sigur Ros, Stevie Nicks. But nothing, these days, gets more dramatic than Florence + The Machine. And let me tell you, every time I hear this song, I get more than a little hot and bothered... Yes- I agree that if you listen carefully to the lyrics you will probably think me a suicide risk. So if that does not float your boat- try this one on for size. Still Florence, still hot and bothered. I mean, really.
Okay.. soooooo... knowing my track-record with men (and pardon the pun if you recognize it) it's probably just the hair but HOT DAMN. And let us be honest where honesty is called for- again knowing my track record with men... it could also be the costumes. And yes, this is me creating another link to another photo just to hit it home. Both of these guys... I could happily turn them into ice-cream cones. Happily. Gleefully. With cheerful abandon. Okay, I'm done now. You get the idea- and the many pictures. The point is, perhaps I need some heroic (or anti-heroic as I am currently toppling in the direction of Loki) behavior in my life, judging by how much I adore the Thor and Avengers franchises... okay okay.. judging by how much I adore the Thor and Avengers MEN.
...
Now that I have sufficiently fanned myself off, let us move on.
Am I the last person on earth to discover the Primeval Series? I have always like Brit Tele much better than American and this little jewel just triggers so many flights of fancy. Granted- it is far from the most intellectually stimulating television programs out there, but I like to put it on the background when I am pretending to study Ayurveda :).
There is this pose in yoga that makes me a little excitable as well. I know it from New Zealand as Equestrian (Ashwa Sanchalanasana) but I do believe that North Americans know it as a 'Low Lunge.' Regardless of what you actually call it, nothing will cure your hip ailments like dropping into this baby and remaining in it for thirty seconds to a minute. It feels like heaven. Horse Heaven for me, I suppose. But beyond that, it feels like strength. Pure, powerful, spiritual strength.
The idea of Mom and myself getting tattoos at the same time. She still hasn't quite decided but I have only a small decision to make. This gal on my wrist- or the one that my dear Jay is supposedly drawing for me... Um... Jay-Bird... where's the witch??
So I think that's all for now. I mean, that's all besides the usual hodge podge that flows through my brain making me all crazy-like: Iceland, travel, Argentina, a fine Malbec, TRAVEL, the Mountains, travel... you know how it goes.
I send you love, friends, until next time.
Cheers.
To continue- I am completely and utterly obsessed with the following:
I have always had a soft spot, a weakness, a heart-stopping hiccupy crush, on dramatic music- Bat for Lashes, Sigur Ros, Stevie Nicks. But nothing, these days, gets more dramatic than Florence + The Machine. And let me tell you, every time I hear this song, I get more than a little hot and bothered... Yes- I agree that if you listen carefully to the lyrics you will probably think me a suicide risk. So if that does not float your boat- try this one on for size. Still Florence, still hot and bothered. I mean, really.
Okay.. soooooo... knowing my track-record with men (and pardon the pun if you recognize it) it's probably just the hair but HOT DAMN. And let us be honest where honesty is called for- again knowing my track record with men... it could also be the costumes. And yes, this is me creating another link to another photo just to hit it home. Both of these guys... I could happily turn them into ice-cream cones. Happily. Gleefully. With cheerful abandon. Okay, I'm done now. You get the idea- and the many pictures. The point is, perhaps I need some heroic (or anti-heroic as I am currently toppling in the direction of Loki) behavior in my life, judging by how much I adore the Thor and Avengers franchises... okay okay.. judging by how much I adore the Thor and Avengers MEN.
...
Now that I have sufficiently fanned myself off, let us move on.
Am I the last person on earth to discover the Primeval Series? I have always like Brit Tele much better than American and this little jewel just triggers so many flights of fancy. Granted- it is far from the most intellectually stimulating television programs out there, but I like to put it on the background when I am pretending to study Ayurveda :).
There is this pose in yoga that makes me a little excitable as well. I know it from New Zealand as Equestrian (Ashwa Sanchalanasana) but I do believe that North Americans know it as a 'Low Lunge.' Regardless of what you actually call it, nothing will cure your hip ailments like dropping into this baby and remaining in it for thirty seconds to a minute. It feels like heaven. Horse Heaven for me, I suppose. But beyond that, it feels like strength. Pure, powerful, spiritual strength.
The idea of Mom and myself getting tattoos at the same time. She still hasn't quite decided but I have only a small decision to make. This gal on my wrist- or the one that my dear Jay is supposedly drawing for me... Um... Jay-Bird... where's the witch??
So I think that's all for now. I mean, that's all besides the usual hodge podge that flows through my brain making me all crazy-like: Iceland, travel, Argentina, a fine Malbec, TRAVEL, the Mountains, travel... you know how it goes.
I send you love, friends, until next time.
Cheers.
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
9/24/2011
Because I fancy myself some sort of writer, I made one of those oh so tricky promises to always write at least one poem a year- one poem a year on my birthday.
I just recently found the one from my past celebratory date:
I have made deals with the devil-
knowing full well the devil does not deal.
And I have done it gleefully,
desperately.
And only the desperate are answered because their questions are
considerably more powerful
than the bored.
And when desperation combines with waning strength,
the devil appears.
What is the devil except for every bad thing
erupting at once?
What is the devil but my unraveling.
----------------------------------------------
Must have been a pretty wicked birthday, hey?
I just recently found the one from my past celebratory date:
I have made deals with the devil-
knowing full well the devil does not deal.
And I have done it gleefully,
desperately.
And only the desperate are answered because their questions are
considerably more powerful
than the bored.
And when desperation combines with waning strength,
the devil appears.
What is the devil except for every bad thing
erupting at once?
What is the devil but my unraveling.
----------------------------------------------
Must have been a pretty wicked birthday, hey?
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