Year

It's been a whole year

and I'm a whole new person.

What did I do?

I killed it, rid it from my body.
I shed it from my mind and from my worries.



And he's gone. He passed. On Halloween.

What a year..

And I'm going to college; fulfilling my dream
to leave Ohio.

You'll see my name in headlines one day
just wait.

My brain hurts

Nothing is lucid anymore,

I feel like I'm stuck in a dream-like state.

Everything is surreal,

as if I'm watching over my life.

I don't feel alive.

What's the point of living if you can't live?

They say all that matters is now,

not the past;

not the present.

But what if its all bleeding together,

blending into one intricate mess of my life?

Days are passing faster;

I can't tell one from another,

I just go through the motions.

I've shut everyone out of my life.

I've been stepped on for too long,

and I'm tired of treating people

how I would want to be treated.

Now I treat them how they treat me.

And it sucks because I'm alienating everyone,

and realizing maybe they shouldn't

have been in my life in the first place.

At the first red flag I drop them,

I am giving no more second chances.

But I'm lonely.

And I'm scared.

Everyone is forcing their opinions on me and telling me that they aren't. They all make enemies with the ones whose opinions differ from their own.  

Hell is scratching at my back.

Ultimately, this is my choice. You all fail to realize this. You say it is completely up to me but then try to mold my mindset to your ideas. I will not lie down and have you all fight with each other and me about what is going to happen. Its my decision to make, not yours. 

Furthermore; I will not have you plead with me, beg me, or threaten me if your plans aren't similar to mine. I've had enough. I was looking for support amongst family and friends and all I found was chaos. You all have completely disappointed me, and worse, broken my heart.

This is MY life.

I can't believe you. Its hard enough to make this decision on my own, but to have everyone talking in my ear at once makes this ten times more difficult. If you aren't supportive of whatever decision I choose, then you aren't allowed to talk to me about the subject. If you are, but have differing opinions, don't TELL me about them unless I ask. I don't need everyone's two cents.

Enough is enough.

It's breaking my heart to make this decision.

I can't live knowing I've caused the death of someone else. The toll of the regret will take all I have left of me. It will disappoint my family, and I don't think I can handle the shit they will give me. I know they will never look at me the same.

I can't give my life up to this alien; I won't be able to care for something I never wanted. I quite frankly see it more as a burden than a blessing. Its a mistake, a simple slip up that's going to cost me more than my mind.

My life has been flipped over and crushed, making my plans for the future seem implausible. I have to change everything, and I'm very comfortable with my life right now. 

All of the options I have seem so far out of reach. I mull them over in my head again and again, weighing the pros and cons, all of the possibilities and what-ifs. I'm turning this situation inside out to try and find a solution, but there are so many factors I have to take into consideration. Its so much more complicated than a yes or no answer.

I still have no clue what I am going to do, and my hesitation  is leading to huge assumptions by all the witnesses. Waiting is turning this nightmare into a demon. I can no longer afford to spend any more time thinking this through, but I haven't completely gotten my answer yet. 

Come Wednesday, I will hopefully have made my decision, and I will hopefully not have lost my mind over it.

BOYCOTT EA

Listen to me people: do not buy any EA products! Especially The Sims 3!

These games are filled with bugs, glitches, and errors that prevent you from playing them. I've contacted EA about this for about 2 years now, without a single word back from them. Tell everyone you know not to buy any of EA's products.

I plan on ruining this gaming company, and I need your help.

the meaning of life

I now know what the meaning of life is:

It's love.

Love is a frequency that allows us to fully expand;
the emotion changes our DNA itself.

Look out in the world, what do you see?
War, hate, discrimination; murder, famine, depression....

This keeps us in low vibrational frequencies, or the frequency of fear.

The frequency of love is higher and faster, more wild and energetic.

Wake the fuck up and start loving people again...

Illusions

We are not here.
You are not reading this.

Its all an illusion.

I have no idea how to act,
how to think,
what to believe....
My mind is blown,
my world is upside down,
everything tangible
has become an idea.

Now what?
Now that I know this,
what happens next?

What we think we know is a lie (prt 2: illusions)

This illusion of our individual bodies
along with the misinformation
of our true origins
has manifested the idea
that we all think independently from another.

"Parroted Thinking".
Sound familiar?
This is ancient knowledge,
which our ancient relatives
understand much better than us.

There is a common
spiritual bond
between all things in the universe,
and we are all part of
one divine intelligence.
No phenomena,
or paranormal occurrences
are unexplainable.

The blank matter within
the most basic blocks of
perceivable existence
is malleable and molded
by intent...

Consciousness shapes our reality.

We are taught from an early age
how to think rationally and tangibly,
and to not explore ideas or notions.

Take what knowledge I have tried to share
and pass it on:

Ancient Knowledge.

Part 1

What we think we know is all a lie

I am so completely mind-fucked right now.
I'm starting to doubt everything,
this whole world is an illusion....

I can't explain it as well,
I can only give you
what I got from the knowledge
that was given to me.

Its simple to me but so complex simultaneously.
Everything you know is a lie:

We are not matter.
To think the world is made up of matter
is a selfish and narcissistic notion.
What actually creates the universe
is consciousness.

We were taught the perception
that we all think independently,
which is not at all true.
I think I finally understand
what the transcendentalists were talking about.
"Parroted thinking" is not only an idea,
or an opinion, but a fact.
The bible is another great example:
Don't take to heart all the fairytales
that course through the holy, biblical pages,
the bible is filled with symbols
and hidden meanings.
It is not only a fairytale,
but a way of life;
It is our guide to the universe.

"The Holy Word",
for instance, is not God's word.
We are held together by frequencies,
which create our pulse and fuel our mind.
THAT is the holy word,
the frequencies which are the fabric
of all consciousness in the universe.
Or "matter", as you'd call it.

Think about it;
what is the world made of?
Atoms?
Correct.
But when they went to explore the atom
in hopes of deciphering the meaning of life,
do you know what they found?
The atom is made up of nothing
but empty space.
So how can an empty atom
create the solid world around us?
Think about it.

The concept of substance arose
from the philosopher Aristotle.

Space and time have already
been proven to be illusions of perception,
so how can something
that occupies space be a true
perception of reality? (human bodies)

Our true consciousness does not exist
in our minds or our bodies.

M

the boy with the thorn in his side

I've had reoccurring nightmares like yours,
only more lucid; only more real.
They follow me into my waking life,
haunting my hours before I even close my eyes.
You wrote a novella,
and stripped your mind naked
for the world to see,
to devour,
to fight viciously in a pathetic effort
to figure you out.
And they never will.

I find it hilarious.

I've told my one or two readers many times
of my dreams,
spelled out in metaphors and symbols,
heavily cryptic.
I've opened my mind and poured my thoughts,
memories, hopes, wishes, dreams..
and nightmares...
onto this blog.

What do I get?

Clarity I suppose.
Was that your reasoning for writing about The Boy?
To sort out the memories of such nightmares
in your mind, and to try and figure your own self out?

Aha, I hope you've found some distinction between
your illusions and your insanity.
I think you're mixing the two,
and suddenly your reality has become so surreal,
it's almost as if you're living in a dream.

Oh, but you are.

happy Father's Day papa cat

Dad.

I know you love me,
you know I love you.
We both know you're an absent role in my life,
hiding somewhere in the depths of hell
and poking your head up every few months
to check in on your one and only daughter.
I'd like to change that,
and I know you do too.

You're the biggest narcissistic,
self-loathing, sarcastic asshole known to man.
You're a walking contradiction
and I am your mirrored counterpart.
I am truly your daughter,
with our twisted sense of humor,
quick wit and sarcastic replies.
You keep me on my toes and
I keep your soles on the ground
(when we're together, that is)..

I love you papa cat,
and I hope you find peace soon.

Much love,

- Kitten

the evil popper

if there is anything I hate
more than everything in the world,
it would be the evil popper.
the popper is this gargantuan metal contraption
that spews out heroin-laced popcorn (not literally)
and laughs at me as I try to clean it.
it gargles out oil and salt
and spits its nasty black gunk
that seems to get stuck EVERYWHERE
on this giant beast.
it boils your face when you stand over it,
to bag the popcorn
or put more seeds in its mouth.

the funny thing is that I (and me alone)
have to clean this metal beast
whenever I'm working concession.
why, you ask?
well because I'm a newbie,
and they want me to be able
to clear the metal teeth of
the black gunk and salty kernels
without requiring help from fellow employees.
bullshit.
they want me to be swallowed whole
by the evil popper,
and spit out all puffed up and salty
just like the popcorn and the rest of my co-workers.

fuck the evil popper.
I would rather lick peanut butter
off of a hobo's infected toe
than clean the evil metal beast.

Mr. Wentz = envy

I hate how well you write.
Your lyrics are music and my words
in comparison are a 5 year olds,
trying to seem smart.

I go back over my old work
and then I read your thoughts
and suddenly I'm looking up at fireworks,
waiting for my spark.
I'd love to meet you.
Not just to say that I've met you.
I want to claw my way into your mind
to see if it's anything like mine;
a maze of thoughts..
Do we both think in rhymes?

The only thing I've ever written that's good
I sold to my blog and tumblr and the devil himself...
I'm sure its out there somewhere
as someone else's work.

I try to imitate you because you're what
initially inspired me to be whatever the hell this is..
but.... "Writers keep writing what they write"..
Right?

I am nothing but mediocre,
you make me make myself sick.

I hope you're happy,
living the life I want to live...
and you're so damn miserable.
I would give anything to be in your
oh so stylish shoes,
and you'd give anything
to be a goddamn normal human being.

Look at the way you think!
You're not normal!
I'm not normal!
We're not normal!

Fuck.

this is summer

we're racing the sun,
driving towards the light
that spills down from in between trees,
houses, and fences.
she hides behind the clouds,
her rays dripping from the holes
of blue in the gray masses.

the streets are lined in sunlight,

as the clouds move with the wind,

the light on the street moves too,

running away from us.

we're racing the sun.

perfect weather;
not too sunny, not too windy;
not too hot, not too cold.
this is the beginning;
this is summer.

kids are out on the street,
and its everything
of an ideal neighborhood.
children racing bikes,
some with the training wheels still attached.
women walk dogs and push strollers,
a couple walks down the block with a toddler.
a boy is playing ball with his father
in the front yard of their house,
two teenage girls walk the sidewalks
gossiping about they're latest crushes,
while their male counterparts gossip
about the latest video game releases.

this is summer.
and for my age,
the next three months is forever.
an infinity all rolled into 1/4 of a year.

this is summer

and I am ready.

consider this

I can't be your savior now,
for failing you I hate myself.
The only thing I have to offer
is an empty hand.
I blame myself for breaking down
and letting my mind fill with doubt.
There is no such thing as
misery in wonderland.

Consider this:
Lost religion is piling on top of hope.
We all see it tipping over
but living a lie is easier than to cope.
Right?
What if we are not we?
My reflection has made mistakes
that I have not.
She sees me and I say "we are we"
but she shows me her life
and it is not mine.
Denial is most prevalent when
smiling in the mirror.

I am superglued together,
bursting at my seams.
I keep sewing the holes
but still my insides leak.
And if love is a war
we are all veterans.
We are broken and sore,
but love is our medicine..
How?
How can that be?

There is no such thing
as misery in wonderland.

Are we, we?

It seems mortality is an option we have now;
tossed between hands, held behind a back.
Two fists with two alternative endings.
Luck of the draw, you call heads
in hopes of seeing Licolns face.
In one hand you have life;
disease, poverty, wars, crime.
A grim chance of survival
past your expiration date.
In the other hand you have nothing;
a free world of possibilities to explore
and wander, a whole life of luck
and love, success and fuffilled dreams.
Good luck picking the right hand, child.

This is your world, your dimension, your story.
You rule it, live it, tell it
under muttered breath as the stars watch you.
This is our option, a choice we have.
We always end up picking the wrong one,
no matter who you are.
Naive children, infants, starry eyed
and overwhelmed. We always pick the wrong hand.

I broke free of my shell and emerged into your world,

thrown into your rampant chaos without warning or advice.

Two fits were held before me, and, trying to control

my movements and figure out how this world works,

my tiny little finger chose a hand.

Which one is it? Mortality or regular, human life?

I don't know. I'm too young perhaps,

or perhaps I am overlooking a major component

of this fate game.

I think too much.

we are we

your blood is mine;
stale and cool.
it courses through our broken veins,
rupturing one after another.
my heart is yours;
beating in your crimson hands,
leaking love out of its arteries.
we are one,
but one who sees and thinks
in a different spectrum.
our breathing is uneven,
but our chests match
as they rise in fall.
a silent sigh in unison,
followed by a gulp of contaminated air.
we are we,
and i cannot specify that enough.
to think oneself is better than their minds,
ignoring all the warning signs.
red flags pop up in my peripheral vision,
blurred out by conscious.
she wages wars on my gut,
and my heart is a silent plea.

alternative versions of me,
as far as the eye can see,
place their hands on the mirror,
and we are we.

i argue with myself,
borderline personality,
always on the verge
of crossing the line
and splitting my mind
from need and want.

these dimensions are like the sea,
as one world crashes another rises up
in the momentum. i see my world
falling apart,
decaying slowly,
slipping through my wrinkled fingers.

a dream of the future,
or a dream of the past?

you have me twisted around your finger,
spinning me on a thin wire
that always threatens to break,
but never does.
I'm so close to freedom,
I can taste the sun on my back.
But you always pull me back in,
like a fish caught on a hook.

I hate the idea that
I will always love your flavor,
just a taste and I'm back in your arms.
Resisting only makes you furious.
I'm starting to get pissed at your anger.
What right do you have?
I am no slave.
I offer no solace in bed sheets
and darling you're only thinning
the line you have me on
with every request.

You think you're funny and you're not.
You think you're teasing but its painful.
You say you're smart
and yet you can't understand
a simple sentence.
A single word.
"No."

Somebody oh somebody
find me scissors; I need to cut the rope
before he strangles me.

Traveling

I can envision myself doing this.

You all may hate car rides,

but I don't mind it one bit.

It's the only time I can go

to a world completely of my own.

I don't have to talk to people,

because I can just put my earbuds in

and watch as we pass by a million

other worlds in less than an hour.

It's the one time I can listen to music,

uninterrupted,

for long periods of time,

and be in a thousand different places

all at once.

Music is a transportation

device in my head,

and traveling is its helping aid.

It's almost like sitting on the computer,

listening to music, chatting with people

on omegle,

and surfing weheartit. Or tumblr.

But this is so much better.

I can see myself traveling,

ignoring people,

and coming back to life

when we reach our

unknown destination.

I can enliven those with music,

and go back

to my own hermit crab world,

without much trouble.

I realized a passion for solidarity

though I knew I had before,

but, I didn't realize was as strong.

Now I watch the mountains pass

and imagine myself singing

the words blaring in my ears,

waiting patiently,

oh so patiently,

for my arrival home.

Bittersweet.

This trip

The air tastes salty
and the sweat tastes sweet.
We're a mass of tangled arms
and legs,
rolling in the salt marsh,
getting filthy. Mud
on our hands and feet,
sand in our shoes,
shells in our hands,
the seawater burning
our scrapes and cuts.
We are a different version
of infinite,
one that ends
just like it never was
to begin with.
We have wings in our dreams
and we fly over the sand dunes,
laughing at our bodies
fighting the waves,
two in a canoe.
Our stories will be written
on our legs by the
stickers in the forest,
the scars they leave
tell something longer lasting
than words can ever try.
We will grow and scatter
and always remember
the versions of truth
we created in a weeks time,
rather than a lifetime.
Too obviously comfortable
to be torn apart so fast.
Annoyed and past our limits.
But that's always the best
kind of story.
One that never ends.