Kat's Kradle

Memory and Morphine

Wed, 16 May 2012 15:44:26 -0400

Memory hands down the sentence
And acquittal is only in sleep.
Memory shows me the gallows
And the rope breaks only in dreams.

No savior in spectators gawking.
All the drunkards are raising a din.
Just send me an arm full of morphine,
While the whores are all howling my sins.

You are so very kind to send letters
With sympathy, kisses and tears
But a blow to the head would do better,
For it seems I’ve been conscious for years.

So send me an arm full of morphine,
Or send opium, absinthe or wine
My memories have me on death row
And each minute is such a long time.

artforadults: Nervosa & Carnage new sketches by james jean

Tue, 15 May 2012 19:45:10 -0400

artforadults:

Nervosa & Carnage

new sketches by james jean

MY SPEAKTOIT ASSISTANT ASKED IF I WAS SICK AND THEN THIS...

Tue, 15 May 2012 18:44:05 -0400

MY SPEAKTOIT ASSISTANT ASKED IF I WAS SICK AND THEN THIS HAPPENED YOU GUYS.

Paint palette. I wish I could convey to you how thick and...

Tue, 15 May 2012 17:58:47 -0400

Paint palette. I wish I could convey to you how thick and ridiculous this is. It used to be just a regular plastic plate. Now it’s heavy and rock solid from collecting a year’s worth of paint. You could kill a man with this thing.

BBC isn't working and that makes Katherine very sad.

Tue, 15 May 2012 16:04:11 -0400

There’s nothing else worth watching.

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Tue, 15 May 2012 00:34:10 -0400

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Tue, 15 May 2012 00:33:44 -0400

A dream

Mon, 14 May 2012 23:17:07 -0400

He called to me to come outside. Waiting on my lawn with a canoe painted green and two pairs of oars. Get in, he said, and I did. But there’s no water here! I said. Oh, well I’ll take care of that. And out he climbed, pulling a long roll of cellophane from his pocket as though it was magicked to be bottomless. With a flourish and a cheeky grin, he placed the loose end at the bow of the boat and pushed the rest away, a carpet of cellophane unrolling before us. Well that’s not water either, but he clicked his tongue and told me to just trust. Take up the oars, he said, and he took up his. Ready? One, two, three, pull! And I expected to feel the wood connect with solid ground, but instead it sliced neatly through… well, something. A peek over the side and there it was, clear blue water where there was none before. I picked my oar up out of it and thin strips of cellophane clung to the top and dripped over the sides. See? he said. I told you to trust me. And there we went in our little green boat rowing down our cellophane river into infinity.

I used to hear "pay-per-view" as "paper-view".

Mon, 14 May 2012 15:50:57 -0400

(via BBC - Doctor Who - First Preview of the New Series! - News...

Mon, 14 May 2012 15:01:26 -0400

(via BBC - Doctor Who - First Preview of the New Series! - News & Features)

Is that Mr. Weasley I see? Oh yeah.

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Mon, 14 May 2012 13:50:16 -0400

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Mon, 14 May 2012 12:47:28 -0400

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Mon, 14 May 2012 11:57:06 -0400

On the Business of Fancy Writing

Mon, 14 May 2012 00:30:53 -0400

polkadodgeorganization:

In the act of unsentimental poetry is a trifecta born of necessity.

Coffee. Amphetamine. Cigarettes. Brand name. Even though I’m a socialist.

Because my hands shake too much to roll…

   I often can’t hold a pen.

I type naked to stay safe from vanity while perched on a nest of

shredded love notes that keeps my pride at bay.

When I’ve not eaten for days the joints of my fingers lock. When I’ve not slept

blocks of words form faces that speak in tongues which I transcribe

into haunted doodles that hang above my bed

and keep me company during withdrawal as I curse

with breath whiskeysour the lack of friendly cornerstore markets that cater

   retail phenobarbital.

You guys. There’s a… there’s a lobster science...

Mon, 14 May 2012 00:03:05 -0400

You guys.

There’s a… there’s a lobster science center.

This guy works… at a LOBSTER science center. But you know what? Dammit, he probably fucking loves his job.

Marilyn Monroe was once asked what she slept in. 'Chanel Number 5,' she said.

Sun, 13 May 2012 23:25:35 -0400

lovelikevulture:

I can smell her before she sits down, all flower filled and wind. Sheets blew on a laundry line somewhere in a meadow and that fresh smell crossed the plains with a storm that settled in the bosom of this woman sitting behind me. I turn myself slightly for a look but come back with only a glance of her cobweb hair, black curls and winding. The diner isn’t all that full and I ain’t all that inviting enough to want to sit next to so I turn myself around completely and tap her shoulder. She looks back at me and I see Hell in her person, and she is beautiful. Unforgiving, you’d have to bleed for her to know you felt something for her. Her lips all pale and pink and dead or something empty. I’d kiss her if she didn’t have a blade to my throat. She looks at the silver against my skin and starts sliding it to her right, opening a sliver of red. I show her my teeth and look down. She follows my stare and her eyes fall onto my switchblade, open and pressing into her thigh. Her black tights don’t show the red but she has some of her own comin’ out. My eyes are bluer than hers and she takes notice and wilts a little. Someone in the restaurant screams and people take to the exits while we sit there holding each other’s dirty leather jackets, stuck on each other’s knives. Some color comes to her cheeks and some settles in her lips and I lean closer, her knife going deeper, and I try to kiss her.
‘Why are you doing that?’
I try again and her blade slits me open further, getting us a little more wet.
‘Speak, boy.’
‘You smell good.’
The tip of her knife reaches the end of its slice and she drops it to the floor as I bleed.
‘Oh yeah?’ She whispers now. ’What do I smell like?’
I smile red and stupid. ’You smell like girl.’
I fall into her and then to the floor and she comes down after me, kneeling next to me with my knife sticking out of her and all.
‘That’s kinda sweet,’ she says. And then, ‘Why do you say that?’
I motion her to come closer.
‘Dirty laundry,’ and I twist my knife into her deeper.
‘That’s a good boy.’ She pries my hand off the knife and moves it to her crotch. ’This is better.’
She lies next to me and we bleed out, my fingers in her body feeling her die. My throat is open and her artery is severed and we die like this, never once being able to kiss.

Love Like Vulture short stories

The Beatles - Martha My Dear

Sun, 13 May 2012 21:50:28 -0400

The Beatles - Martha My Dear

Androgen

Sun, 13 May 2012 17:42:20 -0400

forgetlings:

The body was named Lilith

She cast out for crying Yahweh
Whom Adam would not allow on top
To touch him as intimate truth
With her vow

Nor his hands around her hips
Faithful to her pleasure swelling
Spilling from her soul
As no other

Whom Adam would not allow
To give her whole body
Made whole by love

Her own body
Her own heart

Trademarked Lilith
Sold out.

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Sun, 13 May 2012 17:41:05 -0400

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Sun, 13 May 2012 17:00:37 -0400