short shit films

 

Dull Ziplock

CLick tHe iMaGe 

click for the short film 

disappearing within myself, pt 2

 I lost myself between the telephone wires. the failed communication became certain satisfaction at all my failed attempts. he always comes back when the tide is drowning out all the land and there is already nothing left to take. we sit here planning our futures, and I can't help to think of the conversation I held before, with other boys dressed in polos or rip to rags t-shirts. each of them gifted the faith of death sooner than anybody in the room expected. I stopped loving you when he died. before the night I spent months trying to fit myself into a pair of jeans you would have liked, starved myself from humanity, and forgot the face of the boy on the telephone. the same night I was convinced of the concept of pain ending. his life ended. I hated you for it, the strumming of your guitar ringing through my ears for the first time brought back memories of him crafting me lullaby's to drown out his fear of going to bed alone. I hated you for it. but I stayed because I didn't stay for him. and I grasped on to any life you held and begged for u to exist long enough for me to see u happy again. but you left. in all the ways you were meant to. and so I'll leave too. in ways you never excepted. 

Propaganda Cow

Holy Cow 

In the midst of haunted hallways and abandon homes, lives the bastard. He is Phoenix's finest most unconventional magician, juggling hobbies, skate tricks, and huffing paint. 

I meet him on the outskirts of shea, covered head to toe in dirt. He was spraypainting a dog on the side of my junkyard honda. Hat placed always facing west. He didn't speak in mumbles but rather screams of currents, echoing off the walls from the gutter in which he called home. playing the song that turned me mad. (objectively speaking I was always considered mad, or a clock missing a few gears, but I like to consider myself more of a light switch. giving myself time and places).

He told me about his business. It was the type of business you'd whisper or change the topic around the police or women in Christian atter.

 He sold carrying pigeons to men on the light rail, each of the ankles of the government official birds held tiny flyers promoting "holy cow!" a short film created by Aiden Shabkie and his gang of misrepresented street dogs. Ripping up property and making make-shift rails. It was a dangerous business, that could get him and his mates locked up on the farm, milking cows and throwing eggs for the rest of their days. But they didn't care, or at least Alex didn't. He was used to the life of crime. 

He found hope in it.

 After I went mad, they must have gone west, tracking the chemtrails in search of more junkyard hondas and abandoned swimming pools. I can't tell you when they will come back or what new propaganda poster will be floating around the telephone lines. just that they will... and it will be more destructive than the first time. 

-katbird02 

disappearing within myself, pt 1

The thing that sucks about this whole situation, is that I cant promote my shit-stained blog. I mean you can take the blog but you can't take the girl out from the blogger lifestyle. I've been a shit writer in all types of confinements. jumping out of windows and catching bus rides to the nearest mailbox to insure people there is still a brain inside this locked up body. I mean we've all heard about the moleskin journal and my ability to make pads of paper into police officer's interests. 

confinement in my ideology isn't confinement

I mean my bedroom walls can be anything I want them to be, 

the rattling of my car and skipping of the radio is just like the good old days.

reading books that make you envy their life and strumming mumbles on that untouched guitar.

we forget how much complicity is held within the simplicity due to the fact that robots and technology took over our twilight zone reality.  

who are we when we have nothing? 

no social media, no outgoing call, no screen to hide behind. 

the empty stillness of the world, 

when was the last time you sat quiet enough to hear the white noise, 

how did it make you feel?

was it a type of paranoid high, where you swear to god the cop siren in the song, is actually a cop siren and he's going to pull you over?

even though you've heard that song a million and ten times, the uncertainty of consistency. is going to eat your hallow brain alive. 

and you can't do anything about it

I know the sun is going to come up tomorrow and these words will just be something I use to fill up the time or make a mission for delivery. 

but it's still uncomfortable, to be so still, to be the quietest girl in the room, to be the only girl in the room.

katbird03

WEB SET WITH BOYTHYE

 Frankie, this one for you:

WEB SET LINK

Believe it or not, in the midst of editing a brutally honest, self-degrading blog, that hopefully will resign in the draft grave. My sticky fingers went to Frankie's page in hopes of filling the uncomfortable confrontation I made between my laptop and the narrator's thoughts. I ended up saying fuck you to the blog and devoting my concentration to the cinematic vibrations of my phone where little Frankie was trapped in. 

North Carolina

"Now that I'm done consuming it's time to shit some stuff out"-Frankie

Haven't known Frankie for that long, but I do know that fool can make you let out a god-awful laugh and give you witch-like smile lines. Frankie's voice is the combination of a proud father and silky smooth whiskey. When consuming the web set, I seem to have time-traveled back to childhood memories and was surrounded by all the beautiful things I loved in the south, and Frankie's guitar luring strums built the structure of the lake house I visited as a child, the way I remembered it all magical and book-like. each song became a comforting understanding and the fabrication of the life I wish I had back in the south. When Papa Frank had a political outburst over the grill, calling out weird family members and the kids who steal otter pops and our cans of worms. Papa Frank told us tales around the campfire, consisting of concrete cowboys, haunted citizens with mouths full of lies, children with chicken legs, and the god awful truth; that Jesus sometimes has no comment.  He gave his viewers, a nostalgic-filled experience, trapped us in pink tackle boxes, and made backhanded compliments on my taste in soda pop. But in the end, Frankie tucked us all in, let the fireflies out of the man-made mason jar night light, and gave us things to dream about. 

I'm looking forward to being a part of more web sets and cant wait to see what BOYTHYE "shits out"! 

katbird02 xoxo

finger printed bruises

I don't really have anything nice to say, 

I'm also extremely sleep deprived,

running off three diet cokes

I think the main thing I hate about the human race is our need to be on top, I've watched girls fight over shit dog men in order to get some sort of recognition, or temporary lust. girls fight over girls just to get some sort of popularity, and a foot up in dominating the human race. In America, we profit off of the failures of others. 

we are "the fuck it all generation"

the "cancel culture"

the "mistaken"

the "overly empathic and impassivity"

there is soon to be nothing left to burn

and it doesn't even scare me 

It's all human nature, this is the "Natural man" they all talked about, we are the examples psychologists and philosophers use and we are all just as bad as each other. 

katbird

 

tramp stamps

 

The night started with backstabbing Hatz and ended with the out roaring from my favorite local band. The set was fascinating and created an out-spoken aura. The starting band Oversea quite literally gave the audience a foreign music experience with an ultraviolet twist to sonic rock. The trio consists of Jason the drummer, Stephan the bassist, and the god-like screeching vocalist Valarie. The band Overseas played one house show before going on intermission during covid and really working on the chemistry between the mates. Despite the chaotic police appearance Overseas still managed to put on an awesome performance and show Home Invasion a new type of talent! 

The second set was Rosemonte, a high school band that started a year ago. The ensemble contains Max the vocalist, Noah the drummer, Colin the guitarist, and the kickass bassist, Ally!  Rosemonte played a radicalized sesh and gave the audience "indie Radiohead" vibes according to Ben Bates, a member of another local band called Reruns. Their youthful talent is absolutely shocking and definitely a band that should stay on your radar. 

The final set was worth the fucking wait.. 

Bummer Girl gives life a new purpose and fans tramp stamps. They gift us an atmosphere of lust and family with their cocktail mix of midwestern emo and rock. Cameron Demecs shredded the guitar till the crowd became nothing but sizzling chords, while Joey Step plucked the bass into a heart-throbbing experience, Walt Wilson (sugar cowboy) injected the audience with straight caffeine as he flirted with the crowd using only his vocals and cryptic dance moves. This was all topped off with Devin Divichi's neck-breaking, curb-stomping, drumming. Bummer girl is the living proof of a higher power. We appreciate them for their uplifting art and the compassion for their fans/friends. Bummer girl ensures the safety of the community and the underage kids that crowd surf around Home Invasion and can not be thanked enough.

ALL and ALL these bands were throat grabbing and so far my all-time favorite setlist. A special thank you to Home Invasion for providing the space and securing the safety of the community when faced with unexpected complications. Also, thank you to the people who came to support the music scene and stayed all the way to the end regardless of the time! <3

xoxo

katbird02

catch Bummer Girl and Rosemonte next week at Rebel Lounge

https://therebellounge.com/e/bummer-girl-152159871271/