update:

diet coke.. coming soon 

Bummergirl and Rosemont review.. coming soon 

short films.. coming soon

answers to the math homework.. coming soon 

she's the third and he was a liar

 "there must be a circle of hell, where you are given everything you've ever wanted and it doesn't make you any happier" - Chris Leja; cocaine  

the closest concept I could get to was the talk about the "void" in the church group, which is the theory that we all have this giant depressing hole inside of us that we must try to fill before we die, but I will spend the rest of my life denying that the hippy-dippy answer is "Jesus". because it's not, the answer isn't love, sex, money, or drugs and it sure as hell isn't a talking cloud. this shitty fucking void is just the abyss, all the unknown factors of the world that we will try every fucking day to fill and complete and shove into our tiny shrinking bodies but will never give ourselves the satisfaction of being full. there forever will be more want, and I know the answer is probably being able to "accept yourself" or "understand your purpose". I'm simply just too stubborn to ever even consider trying to.

I must have manifested this void when I tried to use witchcraft to make myself invisible or when I filled my 2016 dairy with the scripted meanspo. 

lol 

i don't like anything about hannah 

i think that poem applies to my whole understanding of her.

this page isn't coordinated, 

kat       bird  

tinnitus invasion

 

There something so beautiful surrounding the echoing noises that bounce off my ringing ears. The wind attempts to scream at me as I drive fast and confused with the windows rolled all the way down, paired perfectly with the blowing of my ice-cold Ac. I've never been a fan of stripping down to the bare minimum until tonight. Tonight was the night I drove so fast my skin made love with the air!

The transformation overdose my soul went through tonight started with a late arrival to my local venue Home Invasion. The crowd consisted of all types of people guzzling water and absorbing the music, some danced, stood, head bopped, and even shoved, yet we were all formed a safe community and understanding.. that this is the art of phoenix and something that needs to be preserved like an ancient artifact. 

The two full sets I was able to consume were Freud and Police State. Which gave me complete tunnel vision as my feet tapped the floor trying to see if there was still ground to dance on, Freud is the mix of astral projecting and fist fighting. Not a single word was spoken during the chamber's breath-taking performance yet the sizzling chords seemed to scream more meaning than the typical new-age bullshit and I was completely and utterly captivated. Their music is the creation of child wide eyes and dilated pupils! After Freud unconditionally mind fucked me, I was fist-kissed by Police State. the loud head bashing, body moving music, that made molecules jealous. Their set was fast, dirty, and dangerous. Mixing poetry with kaleidoscope noises. I've never been a fan of touching, but I let the insensitive waves of their music abuse me. Dripping in mountain dew sweat as my ankles were slowly wrapped like a python by the dancing cables that kept me invested. The Police State made me feel like a bitch when my knees considered taking a time out and I loved them for that. These bands offered an amazing set and a mind alternating experience along with the wonderful host Home invasion! 

Home Invasion is a hypothetical self-contained plane of existence that will change your perception and make you drive home with windows down and AC on. Home Invasion keeps the lights on in the underground music community and makes sure local bands and artists don't lose their voices amongst this dreadful pandemic. I am beyond thankful for them!

Thank YOU for reading or scrolling or whatever you did to comprehend my jumble of miss used words!! 

(sorry for shitty grammar and spelling, this was in fact written in a state of euphoria, moments after the last song) yadyadyad hannah has worms for brains lol..... 

katbird02  

blue balls vs mental health

 GOODDDD MORRRRNNNINNGGGG

fuck off tho if you're a fan of creepers... warning I won't make sense and I'm a little angsty on this Tuesday morning!! 

I've found myself recently indulging in blueberry, with the main hope that one day they might find the courage to kill me. Wild blueberries grow all over the USA yet it's hard to tell the difference between a blueberry and nightshade. therefore you could be having a sweet little blue ball treat or according to Wikipedia (a not so friendly source), your body will experience a series of unfriendly symptoms caused by the digestion of a nightshade berry, which will result in dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, blurred vision, tachycardia, loss of balance, staggering, headache, rash, flushing, severely dry mouth and throat, slurred speech, urinary retention, constipation, confusion, hallucinations, delirium, and convulsions. This also happens to be the same side effects of taking Prozac (or any behavior meds that fuel our economy) .. maybe the whole epidemic of suicidal teens could be fixed if we just gave them blueberries and a single nightshade berry. That sounds bad, but is basically the same as the Americas mental health system, which just plays a guessing game for 72 hours and up your dose as symptoms increasingly get worse. except for this way, it's a natural Russian roulette and you get positive side effects like a lower risk for obesity, heart failure, and cancer. yet you still get the risk of fucking dying <3

kill two birds with one blueberry, your depression, and yourself! 

in all seriousness, blueberries are really good, you shouldn't kill yourself, and I don't completely hate medications.. mental illness is a hard thing to pin point and treat especially as people are evolving and experiencing new traumas... I'm just saying fuck that bitch ass pussy who made me a lab rat!!! 

ON another suicidal note. The suicidal prevention line is going to be changed to 988, so it's easy to access and you don't have to google that logic song. 

number right now is: 800-273-8255

which is actually so good, but I hope they get more employees because the last time I used that number they put me on hold.. I mean it worked, I got so upset they made me wait I forgot why I was upset in the first place.. its a cunt move but a smart move.. 

also, nightshade berries are so attractive, there like goth girls :D 

ahhh rawr on command

katbird02papercutkneecaps/ lopsidedteeth

kalopsia

the best thing ever said to me was crafted out of pure hatred for my existence. the nuclear explosion of impulsive thoughts. I don't believe people say things they don't mean, there has to be some uncoordinated truth to the words that we hold onto until it explodes out of us. for example, the first time I told someone I love them, I didn't mean to, it was the creation of a fight or flight response that my body/brain decided was the right thing to do. the first time he told me he hated me, I knew it was true and no matter how hard he tried to take back his words, I knew the truth of the matter was that yes: in those 5 seconds he did in fact hate me. I mean come on... I can admit I'm a fucking asshole when it comes to confrontation about emotional relationships.

anyways the point in my tangled diagnoses of the sentence I've chosen worthy enough to emotional affects me, was the observation of my existence given to me by a person I highly approve of that stated, and I quote " You're awful; You're a horrible person; You deserve every bad thing that has ever happen to you,". in retrospect the first two lines didn't affect me at all, this was a commonly known fact about my existence and something I state in my explanation/term and conditions of knowing me. I'm well aware of the effects of loving a person who can not always recuperate the same love back. the thing that gave me a tornado feeling of acknowledgment and self-love was the fact for the first time ever, a person had publicly admitted to the recognition that terrible things had happened to me. for the first time, I wasn't just a hypothesis of the cruel intention of my paperback world. I wasn't a victim of my own plotline, or a narrative of the third person reality I explained to be distant enough from the actions. I, Hannah, was the girl left under the slide, the bruises, the misconduct, the skiing accident, the cracked head, the boat ride, the drowning, the L shaped couch, the stalked, etc. it was all me, I existed and nobody could try to reframe my reality to protect themselves from authority. the words stated couldn't be diluted in any way, no expression could twist it into a dark humor joke and I was grateful for that.

when the hatred wore off, she repeatedly apologized for her explosion of words, all I wanted/ could say was thank you. cause finally, after years of waiting, I was no longer a kalopsia girl, I was just a person. a series of events and choices I made. And she saw me for just that. 

this is a revised paragraph version of a poem I wrote a year ago,  id like to state that I feel no resentment or hatred to any of the people stated in this entry. I value people's opinions and thoughts at a higher rate and validate feedback to understand the density of my being. 

thanks lol

katbird02 

katbirds exhibit

 girl that got away- Lizzy grant

becoming smoke:

art of fur coats and the hot summer air blowing through my window fan, the dripping of back paint eyeshadow, and the stolen yellow bikini top from my mother's vintage collection.

today I became a fan of things I always hated. red lipstick, eyebags, and small tops. 

yesterday I collected a series of haunted items, pin-striped rainbow shorts, and fur caps. with gold french heels and hoop earrings that take a considerable time to put in. becoming more women is a cross between bloody feet and broken split tights and the gift of manipulation. 

being a person in the 21st century is a lot like being an exhibit, presenting are selves in a way to be seen but also hoping for interpretation. For a lot of people, when they see the classic starry night, they see a painting that can be interpreted in a thousand different ways, yet they almost always find some beauty to it. what they don't see is the process, from boy to man, from mania to heartbreak. nobody looks at the starry night and sees the crafting of a man losing his mind. they see a city, or a moving sky, or a tree. they don't see the person and the emotions they used to craft it amongst their most vulnerable state. We are all just interpretations, glass-painted images that hold whatever we want the world to see. We are in control of perception and have the ability to design whatever matrix we want to be in. for most people this is the curse of their very existence. yet I believe it is a blessing for those who capture it and use it for their

benefit. 

 

 gratitude to the street performer

the molecules in food

 {words words word, and a big crash that shook my house}

the weight of my existence was taught to me at a young age, I watched the southern women in my family cut corners, cookies, and cake. they all eagerly waiting for the kid's scraps. hunched over the stove promising themself one sniff won't ruin what they worked so hard for. It never affected me much until the family dynamic went from pizza night to competition and the obsessions were created, constantly comparing heights and body ratios and the despair/pitiful look from adult to child.  I was taught control by the southern men. weight always flexing from year to year,  sudden growths and sudden shrinks became a cycle I was taught to prepare for. the shame of eating a rice cake, or seaweed, or a slice of a strawberry. the constant prep talks about exercise were more religiously practiced than the bible they all seemed to follow.  every summer went from engrossing in food dissection videos to the hidden container of sugar cubes under my bookshelf. I walked fast, ate fast, and switched water with calorie-burning energy drinks. the summer of my junior year I guzzled fast food in the alley by my house, carefully lifting my neighbor's trashcans and hiding the remains of my secret splurge in hopes of escaping the criticism. inviting friends over became a challenge due to the fact over the sleepless nights they'd pick up harmful habits and the smug comments on my body size, as I begged them to not eat all the chips and the serving of small collected sugars. the worst part of it all was the degrading comments that came with their absents the comment of thighs and neck fat as my tween friends left the corridors of my haunted home. My friend's families jaws constantly dropping at the sight of me stuffing food down my throat at lightning speeds, and the shaking hand's god gifted to me while I sat crossed from dinner dates, the constant turning in my stomach, and the southern women's voice in my left ear telling me how a lady never finishes first and the ticking time bombing as I patiently waited to feed my dehydrated lips with water. I collected small spoons in order to slow down my impatient soul, slicing open Oreos and taking small spoonfuls of soup in an attempt to make the time feel rushed. Before the last time it became bad again, he told me for the first time how proud of me he was. yet now I sit in front of my mother's sorrowful eyes as she asks me how I could ever do something like that as if she wasn't the one who taught me. as if the bruises that star-speckled my legs had never been that way before, or all the summers of nose bleeds and fainting had just been some sort of hallucination. I guess there's a type of pride of being the shrinking child they noticed as they overlooked my sibling's similar destruction. I guess you could also say I won the competition.. lol "if you ain't first your last". 

katbird was not here.. she never was..