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!