La lingua de Katia

La lingua de Katia The writings of a child from a thousand different parents

Tuesday, February 22, 2005

I'm wired

Matt is lying in bed and I am infront of the computer wired to no end. I asked him, what are you doing in bed and his reply was, I just wanted to be horizontal rather then vertical. He drank a large glass of wine and didn't leave me any. Now I can't sleep and he has turned off all the lights. I hate sitting in front of the computer screen with the lights turned off. It's bad for the old pearly pearl pearls.
Hunter S. Thompson died, actually he shot himself. I hope that it is just a big joke. I loved his mediafied persona. He is the only person I ever respected who owned a gun and now look what has happened. Borrow the words from another great farcist, guns don't kill people, it's bullets just get rid of the bullets and then what the hell you suppose to do with the damn gun. I think people would think twice before killing themselves or shooting others if they had no bullets.

Tuesday, November 09, 2004


i don't speak french but I like to listen to it. I like to watch movies but turn on the french audio. Jim Carey is sexy when speaking French.

My girl

I love Sophie so much. She just makes my day. I was feeling stuck and wanted to see her and she decided to skip her class and I am going to bring over my computer to her house and we are going to do work together. Phew. I am so excited to get out of the house even though I feel really tired.

I listen tfo Mid morning internet italian radio tutti i giorni e oggi ho ascolta PLACEBO. I know that a lot of english pop plays on the Italian station but Placebo? It was so weird.

I really need a lap top. I feel like such a friggin dope luggin around my iMac:)

Tuesday, November 02, 2004

So what's next

Who plays the fool in this round eh?
It is I, i was sucked into the bottomless pit of politics. A circus founded on insecury and immorality. I sit with my over sized "power planner" calculator tallying the electoral votes in disbelief. I just don't understand why people can be so irresponsible? Why is it that the metropolitian states all swing democratic and the southern states cling to their cowboy? It just seems so unreal. When Clinton was exposed for indecent contact everybody knew about it yet there are too many few and far between stories covering the Bush administration. I mean, I hate to see it happen but one day all of this chaos is going to make a great hallmark movie.

Now we're naked

Now what do you want? I want change.
It is too hot here. I can't think. I feel like I have been hiding behind the weather my whole life. what is going on? I hate cold weather but lately i have been craving change. Snow, wind, rain, Hail whatever. I want hurricanes and blizzards. i wanna find myself knee deep in snowy slush.

Tuesday, October 19, 2004

I miss the blog

I moved out of that run down house and back home with my parents. This lasted about a month and a half where three of the weeks I was away on Holiday. When I got back I decided with my boyfriend that it was time to move in together.
We now live in a room, too small to fit a broken sofa. I miss my boys, I miss having someone around to do the shopping with. Maybe I am a tree hugging hippy who needs to live in a commune. I miss Dance but I feel that she is too far away and always busy.
SOphie just called me and whistled into the phone

Monday, May 03, 2004

Well well well

Does anyone else feel weird about abandoning the blog?

Wednesday, April 21, 2004


I don't really understand what I am suppose to blog about for this week. I read the sentence in class today but aside I cannot determine its meaning.


Writing is like a fine crafted shoe. The thick rubber is the soul behind the story. The tongue is the characters voice while the logo represents a unique style. Each type of shoe whether it be pump, clog, sneaker, loafer, sandel, wingtip or boot represents the different genres of writing. See they all are worn on the feet but each are worn by certain individuals whereas a story is merely comprised of words yet the completed effect satisfies a multitude of different readers.


"You scorn me for the very reason you love me."
"Mother please." her son Alex mumbled under his breath.
"What did you say?" His mother leaned in, bits of chocolate wafer were stuck between her bottom teeth.
"Nothing." he forced his hung head upright looking in her eyes then rose to leave the room.
"Well- good then."
She seemed satisfied and began shining the metal coffee table as ifnot satisfied until her own imaged shined back at her.
Despite his attempt to end their conversation she continued on.
"Well I don't see what the problem is, I mean most kids would be thankful to get a car for their big one six."
"Mom can we just drop this please?" He twisted the end of his green flannel shirt to cover his fists that had balled from anger. "I like the car."
"Well good."
He wanted to leave it at that, he knew he should of left it at that but a tiny demonic voice slithered out from his vocal box.
"So when can I change the plates?" He said casually leaning against the door frame.
His mother straightened, her back turned to him yet he could picture her lips curling into an aggitated purse. She swung around on the heel of her shoe and shot the oily wrag at him. It missed and splatted against her pristine white wall which only furthered her disgust. She charged at her son and grabbed at his earlobe, pinching the delicate skin between her thumb and forefinger.
"WHAT did you say?" she spat
He tried to wriggle from her grasp but his ear only shone redder.
"Mom, mom please you are hurting me?" He squirmed and felt foolish beneath his mother.
"But Samuel, you are hurting me and you are hurting the LORD by doubting his gift!" She cursed pushing the boy away from her and toward the Jesus shrine the served as the room's center piece.
He fell to his knees without her inflicted force.
"Now good", she said straightening her navy dress "I want five hail Marys and four Lord's prayer. Do you understand me?"
"Yes ma'am."
"That's my angel." she pressed forward and kissed his tuffet of blonde locks.
As he mouthed the prayers he stole one last glimpse from the bayer window at the brand new honda in the front of their drive way and swallowed his sin as he eyed the novely plate that read 54geesus.
hail mary, lords prayer

Sunday, April 18, 2004

I'm tired

I tired of writing. I have sat here for the past couple of hours revising my fuller figure story and paying around with the Everett story but I just don't feel like writing. I really don't. I read the stories for this week but I hate writing critiques. I just don't understand the point of the exercise because it feels like I am doing the same thing twice. I write out what I think then I have to share out loud what I have already written and I realize that I am just reading off of my paper. So then why do I talk at all in class?

Jane is asleep in the red chair. She is wearing an orangish cap. black betty page wig, a frayed mini skirt and an oversized knit sweater.

I am in the same pair of jeans since yesterday, Matt's orange shirt that is too snug for him and too loose for me, a pink faded puma sweatshirt,

All I want to do is lie in bed and be held.

I just returned from my attack. I spotted em walking by and I sprung from my seat, raced out the door and pounced on his back.