La lingua de Katia

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

Sunday, February 08, 2004

Currently, I am still in my pajamas and no it is not because I am hung over. I should really start with Friday nights agenda sinc I haven't been blogging. Tears came to my eyes as I watched Marcello Mastroianni dance around Anouk Aimee in 8 and a half. I love that movie so much. I had a boyfriend once, a man I attribute every success I ever had to because he saved me from wasting away and I don't know if I loved him because he reminded me so much of Marcello or if I love Marcello so much because he reminds me of my Leonardo. Any way Friday I dressed the part of the ring leader and riled the troops together, Steven(as always), Andrew, Mandy Kat and Vasto all piled into the Volvanator and off to the New Beverly we went.
After the movie, no the film, THE FILM I was so inspired I came back and wrote out my first draft, short story for fiction. Well that is after I let Jane read my Tarot. From the deck I pulled a card that reflects where I am in my life at the present. The Devil, yep I pulled the Devil, out of all the cards. Great just great. Well the rest of my fortune was pretty dead on but i can't share it because it is personal and bloggy don't get all my secrets.
Yesterday Dance and I went to the beach and brought a picnic. We were attacked by seagulls who chided us with squaks. I chased them a away and crumbled in the sand out of breath, I took a nap instead of reading my book or writing my philosophy paper that is due Monday.
Last night Dance and I went to my parents house to visit with my brother who is in town from Santa Barbra. He made us all dinner but the visit was cut short when my parents went to bed and Dancce and I departed to Culver City. My friend is producing a movie in Canada. So we threw her a going away Candian themed party. Everyone wore red or white and danced under streamers that dangled from the ceiling fans.
We came home just shy of midnight. I had forgotten that I did laundry that morning and found my room decorated with damp clothing drept from my loft and over chairs. I reorganized my folders then headed for the loft. The pig head story put a smile on my face and I wrote another poem.

I come from the blue collar line.
Granddad was tabacco.
Made from tire skin,
he kept a patch of carpet
to keep his thoughts warm.
I didn't like him.
In his house lived a beast,
A bear that had been pealed,
plastered to the wall.
At night the creature whispered
then groaned,
"Hey little one, unhook me, set me-"
The Bear's alive, I scream.
Grandad came with wrentch in hand.
Bash the Bear,
Down dead again.
Bugs of dust flew
forth from matted hair.
I saw the animal's carcass.
His marble eye was cracked.
Granddad was hovering malt.
A hickup frolicked-
Time to swing that wrench again!
Batter up,
but missed
accidently, connecting, my ankle cracked.
My yelp sprung out,
the crowd goes wild
Deliver them a double hit.


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