Behind Blue Eyes

I am dreading going back to school tommorrow. My last semester ever, and I'm scared of English class. I heard I lot of people failed, or got really low marks, and I always end up too poetic for standard essays. I am also worried about Writer's Craft, what if my teacher thinks I'm a bad writer? I've always defined myself as a writer, and that could just put me over the jagged edge of this glass cliff.

At least its almost over. At least i'm nearly free. I can't wait for spring, so I can go still in the grass under an old tree, and forget my cares, do nothing but make daisy chains, and walk about barefoot.
I need peace sign earings!

Six Songs That Don't Help, But Just Tolerate The Stress:
1 The Songs That We Sing - Charlotte Gainsbourg
2 Bleed Like Me- Garbage
3 Godless- The Dandy Warhols
4 Carpetbaggers- Jenny Lewis
5Creepy Crawl- Be Your Own Pet
6 Lullaby-The Cure

So I've been Thinking- This is dangerous. You should really just run.

I am a mutant. We all are, really but sometimes I think I'm worse.
do blue eyes make you sadder? I've heard that.
Make you melancholic? Feel more of the world? I've heard it all.
But does it just give me an excuse for the way I feel? I'm just a normal girl who thinks too much. Who lets herself, loses herself to daydreams when i should be living. Will I regret this when I'm old? Will I feel like I've never actually lived my life?
I'm afraid.
I'm very afraid- It's like something about 'that Twilighty-show about that zone'

How far can casualty slip into our lives?
Can it slip beneath our sheets? Under our sinful skin?Inhabit Us?
Can we picnic under the dark stars and talk of chaos and corruption?
Can we act it out? Bring the glorified flesh to life?
Stand together at the top of the world, hold hands as it explodes, like in Fight Club?
Can we watch the world burn around us? Dreamland burns blue to those who see the world through heavy eyelashes and blue, blue eyes.

Why is that I can think so much? Who will I be when I reach the finish line, alone with no one to lean on?To catch me when I fall? When I come down from the treehouse? Swinging on a tarzan rope.
Why do I flit so easily from full and complete happiness, to the depths of sadness and crying on the basement floor? I am a million different people from one day to the next.

And most importantly, why can't I think for myself? Why do I ask so many questions? Who am I expecting will answer them for me?Will You?

Once I watched an episode of The Twilight Zone, where a woman who was ugly all her life, and just had surgery to make herself look normal, and pretty like everyone else. Then we see the bandages being removed, and hear that the surgery didn't work, and that she is still ugly. Then we see that the woman is actually beautiful, and everyon else has horribly deformed pig-faces. That's the best episode. it reassure me that maybe I'm not as strange, not as ugly or messed up as I think I am.

It's all about perception.

And what if everyone else is weird and insane, and I'm just the way I'm supposed to be? What if we were all meant to be obsessed, laughing children who cry and laugh for no reason, and cannot concentrate on anything, but my own writings. What if i'm the way we're supposed to be.

There is nothing that no one likes, no matter what it is, there is someone out there who considers it their favourite thing. We consider a movie a failure if only a few million people saw it. But there is nothing out there that doesn't effect someone. There is no life that doesn't touch another, every in dying, alone they warn others to live . To let the cares slip away. Let the handfuls of sand grasped in vain, fall back into the sea. And Liquefy, get lost like us.

What did we ever do without the internet?
When if you wanted to hear a song, see a movie, or know a random fact or date, you would actually have to get up and do stuff, actually have to read the paper, or crack a book. Now we just type a few words on google, and the world's at our fingertips. What has happened to us that people would rather type out responses to each other, and live our whole lives on Facebook or Msn, and be afraid to meet face to face.
I let my words, so distant from life speak for me. I hide behind my keyboard, stab forward with my purple pen, and I'm considered normal!

Every where I turn, I hear that the world is ending. theres corruption everywhere, and all we can think of resounds in conspiracy and doomsday theories.
And I wonder for all our ideas about the world ending, will we destory ourselves before it has a chance.

Save The Humans! The Real Endangered Species. Hunter S. Thompson was right. We are raising a generation of dancers, who are afraid of differing from the norms or following their own beat. We need to get out of line, find our own rhythm, and dance to our own drummer.
We're like the stupid girl in horror movies, who hides in the closet, or runs into the haunted house to get away from the Psycho-Killer (stalking Mainstreet USA).
We're just to stupid for our own good
jUst too stupid to live.
And can I by the Final Girl? Do I want to be, what with the state we're in?

And the Music crescendos, and the masks slip away and we are alone in the blood, on the stage in the spotlight. Alone with ourselves, with our mistakes, No where to run, to hide to leave ourselves.

But This is Opera!
"In opera, you die in act one,and then come back a ghost in act three!"- Blind Mag
It makes no sense. Just like life.

And Here We Have Another Pointless Rant That No One Will Ever Read

So, Long ago i set out down the yellow brick road...

When I was a kid, i would pretend I was Dorothy Gale. I'd put on my mother's red heels, and wander around singing over the rainbow at the top of my childish lungs (god, i was so much louder then). I wouldn't even allow anyone else to sing it, it was "My Song!", no any one else's. I don't have much else but songs,and pretty melodies rushing through my sugar rushing head. And now, I spend my spare time writting this blog, this blog that no one reads, that no one may ever read. And I'm okay with that,this is written for me,not pandering for anyone else.For anyone decides to read it, go ahead,I hope it helps you.

.....And i brought me to this strange pulsing techincolour world.

This week is going to be my hell. I have to write my philosophy essay (the one I've been putting off for months), polish up my psychology project on eating disorders (seriously too close to the topic. I keep thinking with my own experiences!), finish up my Anthro/Psych/Socio seminar (was so tempted to use Everybody's a Little Bit Racist) and study and write my Philosophy exam (but i pretty much lost all my notes)!

I may just crash and burn, and keep crashing, and keep burning until there's nothing left, but me standing in the rain screaming for "them" to turn of the cameras.

And for the record here's the official list of things to get me through this hell week:

• REPO: The Genetic Opera, Sin City, and the Dark Knight (yes, again....)


• Strawberries and Cream, and Ritz Crackers


• Lullaby- The Cure, Colors-Crossfade, Liquefy-The Servant


• Singing along to everything


• My Office and Arrested Development DVDs

Me and my stupid procrastination. My stupid screenwriting, my all consumbing lust.

Fuck! I just can't get anything done! and I keep thinking dangerous thoughts, like I only need a seventy to keep my Carleton acceptance. What if i just didn't do anything?

Its a dangerous path. And I need to get off it.

I'm such a fucking mess. I really need someone to lend me a hand, take me out this shame spiral. This burn-out course. But there's no one, the guys don't fall for the quiet ones. They don't try to get to know, even though i would probably be the absolute best girlfriend ever. Really.

And I blew my chances (damn why must everything be sexual?) when I had them. I at wasn't ready then, I didn't feel the emptyness I do now. It was just flattering, my only examples so far of unrequited love that was directed at me, not from me.Probably the only one I may ever experience (that i know of). I'm getting to the point where I'm thinking of making some big confessions to everyone I've kept in the dark on graduation day. Of running up to a guy kissing him and walking out into the night (well.. it would be day) never to be seen again. That would be culmination, catharthis if anything else.

Did you know you can actually die from laughing? What a way to go! I can only hope.

But sometimes things just get so back that you just gotta step back, look back at the world and laugh. And go out on a laugh, the pefect punchline.

I've had those moments when I laugh uncontrollably for ten minutes (last time my friend took extremely unflatttering pictures of the entire thing)and it is like choking right in the pocket of my throat, but it's like freedom-more than anything else-letting everything else go, fall away. Letting go of who I pretend to be, and giving a glimpse of who I

It's scary, dangerous, and putting myself out there at my most vunerable.

But it may just be the best feeling yet. The perfect way to get though this pointless stuff.

When this week is over, I'll find some reward for my paltry suffering . I don't know what yet. But it will be spectacular... spectacular

I may just be the Cowardly Lion. I've got a heart, sometimes I think it may be too much heart that leads me to desperation and pathetically romantic fantasies, and too much brains and curiousity about everything (I'd open Pandora's box or watch The Ring tape) for my own good. But I can't even carry on a conversation, or talk to the guys I like. I'm seriously lacking in courage.

I lie on the floor, peel myself up and listen to music thinking about destiny.And I lace up my life, tie myself in and try to overcome my burgeoning case of Senioritis. And try to wake up.

It was all a dream... and you were there, and you were there.

And you? You were the greatest one of all.

Is there no place like home? Will I miss it when I move out? Or less likely- will I end up missing Milton, the town I've been trashing since I got here? DOUBTFUL!

-Catch.

And Throw It Back

Singer Wishes For Band...

I actually love coming up with fictional band names. Theres just something fun about it, at taking random words and moving them out of context and into obscurity. Yay! Just not The 1ders or Long John and Silver Beetles. Say no.

So, here's a random list of possible Band names:

Masquerade
Costume Cowboy
Bat Candy
Party Phantom Princess
Party Phantom Parties
Shadow Sheets
Bible Kiss Bible
Jane8George
Artemis Friday
112233
J’s Girl
His Girl For Friday
Nobody Loves You
Nobody Loves Love
Champagne Flute Symphony

Fangirl

Clowns in Love

The Lolita Experiment

Paul Revere and British Boy

So Cliche

Juxtapose Just Suppose

Doll Revolution

Choke

Shoegazing

The Bartenders

Looking Glass

Bobble Head

Gingerbread

Baby Ingenue Voyeur

Girl On a Motorcycle

Hautboy Chorus

Start Falling in Love With Me

Silver Slight

Bobby Soxers

The Bodice Rippers

Cinderbox Roxes

All You Pretty Things

Playgirl

The Water Drinkers

The Joe Greens

The Bonnet Duets

Like Forever

Shakespeare's Dating Service

Murphy's Law

Tea At Trianon

Creamery

Antoinette <3>

Perfumery

Caligula's Horse For Consul

Private Society

The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty

Let Them Eat Cake

Straving Artists

Lipstick

Tolstoy Book Club

Ma-Sock-Kiss-T-Me

What?

Sleeping Dogs Lie

Frog Prince

Hard Candy

Sugar Rush

Try Some, Buy Some

Buy 2 Get 1 Free

Opera Box

Palazzo Pushers

Bunch of Lousy Drunks

The Black Sheep

Enchantment

Daisy Chains

Sopranos Sleep With Tenors

Follow Them To The Edge of The Desert (FTTEOTD)

At some point I want to be in a band. Sing on stage without being scared or without my kneeshaking me to the ground. Singing is the one thing i know for sure that I can do, always sure to perk up my mood, and let me soar. But I need confidence and stage presence, after all I'm no Karen O or Jim Morrison at the mic.

Also, while i never, ever want to be top-tier famous, i want to be known in my area/ community. And have an awesome band formation story to go down in music history with. Like going to an audition without knowing how to play an instrument, or finding a bandmate in your loud upstairs neighbour. Awesomeness= The The and The Band were actual bands. I couldn't make that up!

Or, ya know something Crazier.

Really, craziness is limitles.

Thank God, or Whatever there is, that its nearly Friday!

I'll slack out of the stresses and horror of this pathetic thing we call a school week (Its a sick joke, i say. Sadists!), with a friend, a pizza, chocolate (another form of magic), pounds of make-up and hair stuff, a camera and no shame what so ever.

I think this calls for a photoshoot!

Lights, Camera, Action!,

Catchington-Girl

Bah-Bye Now.

The Dark Side Of The Room, Where The Cha-Chos Lives

Buorngioro Drugstore Cowboys!

Hey Roger!!...."Suicidal girl who OD'ed, he says he loved her, what he loves is to bleed." - Come To The Meeting (RENT NYTW)

No one ever told me growing up would hurt so much! Yeah that run in her stockings, she`s trying to hide... it didn`t happen this morning.


I woke up, morning
I woke up dead today
I aged a thousand years or more
I flinch when you are nice
You kill me with a single word
When angels fuck and devils kiss,
I'm sure
I'll bask in your forever
You just waste my time
I want to drag you down,
down with me
I wanted to help,
to help destroy the world
I wanted to be that,
to be that special girl!

- Angels Fuck, Devils Kiss (Jack Off Jill)

This song captures it. The saddness, waking up alone, so dreadfully alone. Waking up, with dreams i can't remember, Dreams that echo, haunt in my mind. Dreams that really don't think are mine. I have half a mind to wonder if I have anothert personality running around all Tyler Durdan. Even better, is the fact that at the song ends with an unrehearsed nervous breakdown . What better encompases this feeling?

Am I A Rock and Roll Suicide? Will I Join the casulaties? Maybe.
If i don't get out soon, that is. I'm Lux Lisbon, suffocating on rules, confines, and choking on suburbia. I'm a bird in a gilded cage, complaining about my luxeries , and my lack of real worries.
I'm creating problems to sabotage myself.
But I worry, in spite of it all, in spite of fierce independance, Can i take care of myself?


I have no common sense, don't sleep, and lose everything.
I'm reminded of a line of Little Edie's from Grey Gardens, "A Manager! That's what i need! An ordered life." This holds incredibly true for me. I can't order my own life. Fuck, I can't ever order my own Religion Binder, or keep my room clean. What will happen when I'm on my own?

I'm so young, but already so messed up. Sometimes I think need major help, an intervention of sorts. But These are the secrets of never shared. I don't think anyone notices though, don't think nayone really sees into me. Sure, i have friends, people who love me, who want to support me, but I can't share this with them. I pretend so much. i wonder if they'd recognize the real me if we met.

But I'm so lonely. Even when it's a hundred degrees, it's cold at night. and i wander downstairs and look out the picture windows as the cars rush buy, in winter I stand outside at midnight and do nothing but watch the snow fall. I just want someone to hold me and to tell me I am somebody, I mean something to them. Facebook has become a torture device, as each time i log in, I see another one of my friends is listed "as being in a relationship", and i wonder, why not me? What is so wrong? So repellant about me?

I've always been a good luck charm for others, I have a history of improving the lives i touch (awards, higher grades, scholarships, and jobs abound), but this doesn't extend to me. I've been the good girl, I've listened, I've followed the rules, I've patiently gone to school each morning even though i'm falling apart from the inside out and even though i'm dying a bit more each day. I 've settled. I've let others make my choices for me, I've written hundreds of school assignments with exactely what I knew the teachers wanted me to say. But in my daydreams I get up on my desk and scream, I change the world with my thoughts and i am satisfied. I've tried to be noticed, but now, although I've resigned myself to being invisible but i want to be seen!

I've adapted to my life, becoming an Introvert, and living most satisfyingly in my inner world. But once upon a time, I was a little girl who wasn't afraid of anything, I was dynamic, I'd sing in front of everyone, and I was an extrovert. But second grade girls can be mean if you have an imagnation. And ultimatedly, somewhere in the middle of my bullying victim ordeal, I let myself be silenced. I retreated, I decided that it was easier to be quiet to hide myself, to stop from getting hurt.

Now it's four years since i'm been really bullied, and I'm still hurt, I still think people are trying to trick me when they're reaching out and being nice. I rebounded into eating disorders and now I don't even know who i see in the mirror, and can't even take a compliment without getting defensive and I'm afraid of going back. Of having a two day freak-out after eating a single slice of pizza, or missed an exercise session. I can't talk, and I try to hide, but i've gone too far away. denied who I was supposed to be. I can't even speak up in class, even to agree when someone perfectly expouses my views!

But, really what else do you need besides a meaningfully marked-up copy of Moby Dick. Heather Duke freezing alone, a poor little Eskimo, in antartica (but at least away from here). And more eloquently, the creul way that "LIFE SUCKS". and then you die. But where do you go?
I can't force myself to believe in something I don't, something I don't want to think about.

But there just HAS to be a meaning to life! Otherwise, what are we doing here?
Is life just meant to have the most amount of fun, that we can?
I'm all for that, but if that's the case why do was waste our precious time with school to get a job, to support a family. If that's all there is, then I'd condone hedonism, give it all up and enjoy living very breathe. Why am I wasting my time in suburbia, complaining about being alone and not living.

I need to SHUT-UP, get out there and live. Play my game and win. Play by my own rules, no more being weakly submissive to what other people want. Do I waste too much time reading books or watching movies about people who have their own adventures?
I'm going nowhere fast, and i need to change course before i hit the wall. Before the envitable crash, since grade nine I've felt the darkness has been creeping in, and I've been riding for a fall.

When we read Cather In The Rye, I knew if i didn't stop, I might explode, a brillant eclipse of techicolour. At some point I'd stop moving, and "have to go take it easy for a while".

When I read Raise High The Roof Beams Carpenters and Seymour: an introduction, i was sure. Does thinking too much, analyzing life for pleasure, for beauty, for pain make you lose your mind?

I think it might.

If I lose everything else, though if I am never loved (because I don't think anyone really does love me), i will refuse to lose myself. Because I've found her, I've created her, and I'm proud of who she is. I'm not changing that for anyone. Go ahead try to twist my mind. Just try! i think at this point, i'd just laugh. Or I'd run home happy for a minute in the snow, get home a collapse in tears and screams, melting againist the closed door. I'm trapped in myself, and i'm terrified what may happen if i ever get out.

Yes, I know this is maudwin and melodramatic. But I needed to get it out, a box stuffed to brim with secrets, will always burst, like it or not. And I've always like to do things on my own terms.

FIAT LUX! (Let there be light.)
Please! I need a little light right now. I need to find my way, to get back on the path home. Wherever that may be, and be greeted at the door by someone who loves me. For who I am, laughs at my falls and issues, but is always there to help me back up to my feet.

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
- Jack Kerouac

I've been burned. And I don't think the scars ever really fade.

As Always,
Your Catcher.

And Now For Something Completely Different!! Poetry Interlude #1

And We're Back: with
100 Things We Might Have Said,

As i've previously lamented, I am a hard-core Dreamer. This means that my concentration level is about zero, as is my committment level. Patience? Nil. Same goes for Organization.
I'd probably be a hard-person to live with, but then i'd trip over the coffeetable, (must be a Monday) and spill the last of the Diet Coke (Delicious Chemical Elixir!!) all over the shag carpet and ruin my lovely Lipstick Red suede boots, and remind everyone what I'm actually good for:
A LAUGH.
Both at my accidental physical comedy, and my more purposeful (however less sucessful) attempts at being witty (but for a introvert, this is mainly confined to forrays into the written word, and with the small circle of people that have made it through my strict clearance.(I've been burnt before, ya know!)
-Oooh! Sparkly!
-MUST RESTRAIN SELF!!!
Okay...
So, I've always fancied myself a writter. This goes back to when I Was three and dictated lame, but now strangely endearing stories about princesses, Trolls, School, and Happy Meals, to my Dad, who would transrible them, and then let me decorate with my magical crayons.
(I miss the freedom of Crayons, a big box of waxy Crayolas with names that sounded like candies or lipgloss and that were so simple and satisiying to draw with. Thick Vivid lines of Magestic Red, Peacock Blue and Dandelion Yellow. Those were the daze!)
I still owe a great dept to my grade three teacher, who encouraged me to use writting as my voice, an outlet where both overactive imagination, and girl could become larger than life characters, and live out adventures, quests and dreams. Since Then I have always had a work in progress.
As I grew up, My writting became short stories. The two most famous round my house were one written in grade three and four, one called "London Lake" (titled thanks to my childhood, Brit-mania, and a second feature on Saturday Night at the Movies, where a bunch of old people go to a lake, which had a lot of loons and golden sunset), and the other called, "The Bear On Roller Skates", a story where toys come to life, (Cough Toy Story rip-off) narrorated by a barbie Doll. They won third and second place, respectively in school writting contests.
Now, i read them and think there're cute, but that's really about all their true merit.
In the Last Few years, I've turned to screenplays. There are two main reasons for this:
1. I do love movies, and would really want to see the ones i attempt to write
2. My ideas come so vividly that i see, specifics such as music and backrounds, and costumes that are needed to make things make sense.
But I don't finish them. It's Not Writer's Block. I've never actually had Writer's Block (well, only on school stuff, but that's more for boredom). No, It's because the ideas come so fast that I need to leave one alone for awhile, and start a new one before i forget. I've been know to write straight through the night, night being the absolute best time to write, as you are alone, and it feels as if the entire world may have disappeared except you, and you, Well-I feel on top of the world. My Favourite Script of mine is one called Caffeine, a bohemian roadtrip of a movie, Wherein four kids who were never friends, implusively set out on a roadtrip following their high school grad.They have all these adventures, and its all awesomely weird with random sights such as the world's largest balll of twine! But what i love is that it would be shot in segments, as if there is a fifth person in the car, taking and intersplicing moments, of everything, arguments, playfullnes, sleeping, boredom, etc. I actually wish someone would make this movie so i could see it. You have no idea how much!
But anyway, getting back on track, this post is about my trysts with (pathetic) poetry. Since grade ten, in between doodling and passing notes, I have been wasting my so-called "precicous" class time (HI! i could work so much better if we learned at school!), filling my notebook margins with scribbled free verse lines (rhyme is confining and ridgid, poetry is supposed to be freedom). It is my lonliess, my love, my depression, my euthoria, my every high and low, but it's always all me. Now I actually, have a book of 300, or so equally pathetic poems, that i call 100 Things We Might Have Said. I've been toying with the idea of sending it to a few publishers, to see what they think. As, i won't actually let my friends and family read it. EVER!
I once read about a writer who saved all his rejection letters and wallpapered his apartment with them, and then had something to laugh at when he won a Pulitzer. This would be seriously cool, and at seventeen it's as good a time as any to start my rejection collection. (Although Universities haven't been exactely helping me with this, Running count as of now: 2 acceptances, waiting on : 4, Rejections:0, but we'll see).

Here's a Poem, that i found scribbled on a rubic from my Philosophy class, I'm not completely sure what I wrote it about:
So you can judge for yourself:

Electric
The sky's electric, the sins overpowered
It charges, Surging with shooting current
Rushing through punctured veins
Lifting ghostly veils to internal worlds
Bringing life to the spiritually dead
The walking corpses like me
Jaded and exposed to life,
Yet never having really lived
The cloudless blue abyss
Glimmers taunting mortals with its
Secretive night, and hazy childhood daisy days
It's stuck the dreamer in the frying pan
and begun a slow simmer
If it tries to take away my wanderings
My stolen dreams, I will hold out
Battle to the end with my satin gloved fists
But that's life in the world of the living
Killing individuals for fresh new thinking
Biting, Scathing, whoring, Theiving
That's how we stand on this side of the abyss
How we live on this bright new day
How we've stolen the crown jewels
and jumped on waiting horses
stuffed our pockets with greed and ran far away
But when I rest my tired sugar-rushing head
My addled love addicted brain
So weak with the meek curse of human being
I fall comatose losing my mind,
Underneath the forbidden apple tree
The shattered sky, falls to earth laughing manically at me
It's a daylight massacre
Crushed by the breaking chains of my friendly fires
Gut wrenching, dying fraught with locust pain
But the sky doesn't forgive the dead for trying to live
To bring them down to earth
bitting into them like the devil's acid tongue
Breaking candied apple skin, crisp untouched flesh, bitten
Corrupted for evil's own earthly ends
And the electric current pulses and we dance through acid rain
The corroding sky, the power surge
The expectant pulse twins to my heart beat
We're in the desert alone
With the charging sky

Okay, so that was a small piece of my soul laid bare, so Please be kind. Or don't and i'll give you a special place on my wall.

Loadsalove,
-Catcher

It's 2009, and I May Just Be Losing My Mind. My Little Girl Look Fashion Manifesto.

Aloha Suckers!
Just Read Simon Doonan's Eccentric Glamour, and I Wanna start to Dress, and act for myself, not for what others'll think.

It’s 2009,
The Year I graduate. The Year My Sentance is up!
The year of craziness and wild table top declarations and being unapologetic or ashamed of who I am. And letting eccentricity and dreams rule supreme.
I’ll be there. I’ll be the loudest one. Look for me, I’ll be the girl in the:

- Shiny Hot Pink Vinyl Purse (yes, I’ve moved on. I’m ready to commit. Finally.)
- Fitted Floral Print (pink and blue on cream) Shirtdress (like Edie Beale in the ‘40s)
- Bow Shaped Brooch, to find some use for (like Edie Beale in the ‘70s)
- Random Pale Pink Tutu (Just to have. It may never be worn)
- Various Hair bows (I will rock the Pigtails, High or Low at some point, I swear!)
- Piano and Tartan Print Knee Socks (There’s just something about knee socks!)
- Cheap Barrettes And Costume Jewellery (a la Courtenay Love)
- Zebra Print Uggs (Yes, they exist, and I’m always up for that.)
- Fred Flare and Forever 21 Kitsch (a touch of Kitsch makes everything fun, albeit tacky)
- Ripped, Faded, Well-travelled Light Blue Jeans. (The kind with stories, the kind that have been around the world and back).
- Pale Pink Ballet Bag (like I always wanted as a kid)
- Hot Pink Converse (Yay! Viva La Shoegazing)
- Glossy Black Patent Leather Bag, With Multiple Buckles (Okay, maybe I’m not ready to settle down. But a girl, is allowed her flings, rite? I got the perfect calendar tho, A Purse-A-Day, so who really knows? The addiction my live forever)
- Multiple Little Minidresses. Which I wear more liberally, as an everyday thing. Both mod-ish (maybe i’ll finally wear my white mod boots?) and lacy, ingénue, (perfect for dancing and wandering around in random fields and forests, which i WILL find somewhere).
- Various Red, White and Black Tanks (somehow that’s all I need)
- Oversize Grey Vest (Cozy. Not exactly style-centric, but Cozy)
- Black Patent Leather Stack-Heeled Mary Janes (I have a life-long love of school girl shoes)
- Multiple Pairs of Cheap Pastel Lace Gloves, With the fingers cut-off (White gloves home dyed)
- Various Patterned, Textured, and Florescent Coloured Tights. (For stumbling around in the city with red lollipops)
- Also Fishnets (LUV!!)
- White Cotton Cropped Tee Shirt and Mini Shorts Set (For Random Lounging, must be accompanied by slouch socks, and pouting)
- Bondage Boots (awe-some! And really, not at all what they sound like)
- Garter Belt and Stockings (like some deranged fifties girl)
- Red Cropped Denim Shorts (Harley’s Holiday, Much?)
- Red Sequined Converse (Ruby Slippers for a new age)
- Various Knitted Berets (ONLY with straight hair! Bad hair day saviours. Which I WILL wear! I will also dig out my newsboy caps, and my awesome 20s-ish cloche)
- White Merry Widow Set, With Red Heart Pattern (Such a weirdly Cool name)
- Red Slip-ish Nightie Thing With Black Trim (Because Coping Harley is Just More Fun)
- Red and Black Alternating Harlequin minidress (Even if Custom-Made, I want it! Ready to put up a major tantrum if denied!)
- Red Plastic Heart Shaped Sunglasses (the kind kids wear. Made Iconic by Miss Dolores Haze. Bonus points if you get the veiled reference!)
- Black and White Diamond Patterned Tights (Please exist somewhere, in this or any universe, I will find you, just wait.)
- Fitted Tan Coloured Long Trench Coat (So I can Play Matches Malone [World’s Greatest Detective?], or Jr. Reporter)
- Red Suede Slouchy Boots (to be worn under afore mentioned trench coat and tights, with a Knock-kneed gait, ready to trip over my own feet)
- Black or Hot Pink Fitted Leather Jacket (Yes, Really! It’ll be Like Girl On A Motorcycle, without the dying, marriage, freedom, or the Motorcycle)
- Newspaper Print Skirt (Cause I Got In To Journalism School!!!!)
- Dark Denim Suspendered Bubble Skirt (What Dorothy Gale would be wearing today)
- Leopard Print Coat (Out Tonight as Mimi Marquez, Because Junkie Bohemians really have style)
- Anything Strawberry Print (I ask you, has there ever been a better fruit?)
- White T-Strap Heels (It’s Simple, Dah-ling)
- Red, Yellow and Dark Denim Skinny Jeans (Which I will eventually rock. In fashion or not. I just have to be ready)
- White Zip-up Sweater (Neutral, Innocent and Basic, an easy building ground for craziness)
- Black Leather or PVC leggings (they will be HELL, but Ooh, with boots and a minidress!)
- Baby Blue Knittish Poncho-thing (it sounds nice. Don’t really know what I mean, but it sounds nice)
- Chocolate Coloured Boho Boots (with about 50 necklaces, everyone will know you’re coming)
- Fitted Shirt Length Caftan Thing (I saw a picture somewhere, and it was so relaxed, so laid-back)
- Many, many Baroque patterned, and Vintage-ed Fitted Tees
- Cut-off Denim Shorts (but I’m just not ready. Talk to me in ten pounds. Or in the summer. Maybe)
- Tie Skirt, made out of Vintage Ties Sewn together (I have been talking about this for at least 5 years. To me, the Girl born without patience-that’s an eternity)
- Academic Looking Fitted Vest, with Random Crest (Maybe if I pretend to be smart, people will think I actually have some idea of what I am doing?)
- White Blazer, made awesome by paint purposely splattered all over it (this could be fun. Fun like waking up on a free Saturday morning, with Tom Waits’ Fawn, playing in my ears.)
- Dark Grey Ruffled Mini Skirt (I hate to advocate for grey, the absence of colour, and existence of sanity, but it can’t all be smiles, and flowers)
- Yellow Day Coat (‘cause who can’t smile at that?)
- Hot Pink Leg Warmers (if I suddenly get the urge to dance like no one’s watching, when people are actually watching)
- Saddle Shoes (This, is just a thought. They Just seem so unbelievably weird, and kiddish, that they get cool again. My eternal Paradox)
- Black Fitted Leggings (Never okay without, a dress, or oversized sweater. I am just not Edie Sedgeswick, however much I secretly love eyeliner)
- White Slightly Oversized Button-down (with the leggings, it’s very jazzy, laid back, and simplistic)
- My Own Very White Ingénue Dress, possibly with a blue satin sash (for more dream-like sequences running in forests and fields, at dusk and dawn. There’s gotta be some, somewhere! Like Antoinette at Trianon?)
- Little Black Dress with Big Black Bow (Miss Holiday Golightly Travelling?)
- Mint Green, something or other (for no reason other than that, it sounds like candy)


Yes. I’ll be the crazy one who thinks she’s twelve. And I’ll love every single giggling, pouting, lollipop lip moment. God, this sounds vaguely schizophrenic! and I don’t know if I’ll actually have the courage to follow it. But I will try. And if any-body wants to help, I would love them forever, and a Dreamer’s love is just eternal.
The fundamentals, never change, my disaster of a room won’t get any cleaner, and I’ll still be the klutz-est Klutz you’ve ever seen and scream when someone pops out from behind trees, But I’ll LAUGH about it. Because in the end It is To laugh, that Is To Be
But really, it’s all For Love or Chocolate. There may never be a truer point.
Oh, and the eternal daydreams. This year, I resolve to dial down my obsessions, and smile and laugh more. I WILL be happier. Not Stabler, but happy with my delusions. Which may be all that can be hoped for.
And if you don’t like this, or think of have lost my mind (which really, I can’t argue about). Well, I’m through pretending to be normal and being quiet, smart (although with common sense stuff, I need a tutor), and being clinical. I’m gonna fly, I’m gonna learn to be. I’m gonna finally exist, be finally free, and never look back.
I mean really, wouldn’t life just be more fun if we all wore wings to work, or Tiaras grocery shopping at four in the morning?
(Thanks to someone, who shall remain nameless, i’ve already been at Blockbuster in a Tiara with socks on my hands, and on Halloween dressed as Harley Quinn)
This is true living, or in the immortal words of a random Drunk guy: “Yo-Yo-yoo-ya-yo,”
Not that I’m there yet, but I’ll get there. Visit me at the asylum in ten years (less? more?) and we’ll see.
Oh, and stupidly, I MISS being Blonde!!!! Yes, it looked bad, I know this. And technically I prefer the Brown, but I’m boring myself. And in the mirror, I’m a stranger. It’s just not who I think I’m supposed to be. I just don’t think it’s someone I can love. I never said that I was sane, but it tries to speak for me. And the coolest word ever might just be Liliripes (the floppy sides of a Jester cap or cowl), Just sounds whimsical. So there!

- Yours ‘til forever Ends,
Catcher
Art Nouveau Extraordinaire!

What is life, when you can’t make em’ laugh? It’s good to be a little insane, then nothing is ever boring. So, don’t get angry, Get MAD! (if you get that, reference, well, then we really need to sit down and talk. You might have a good nickname for Moi.)
and I’m not even a real blonde!