LL

Sometimes, things like love and loyalty and all things beginning with the letter L don't last long. They evolve. Or is change a better term?

Love becomes passion. Loyalty becomes love. Lust becomes, eventually, addiction.

Sometimes, though, they evolve for the worse. In short, they devolve. Love becomes longing (to escape). Loyalty becomes rust. Lust becomes a deviation from variety.

That's the theme of the day. Things that worsen. Things that fall apart. Things that break down from utter perfection. Who controls these things? Easy one. Destiny, time, and most of all: you. Yourself. And the person who relates in terms of you.

It's either you make good or make bad.

In my case, stupidity isn't in my resume.

In our case, don't try to fool me with your words. Or manipulative schemes.

I'm not stupid. Whoever you are.

I Played Baseball Today

Strike One.

Strike Two.

Strike Three.

YOU'RE OUT!

To be frank and completely honest, with all my heart, soul and paw, there's no such thing as "strike three, you're out" in my summer life JUST YET. But who knows? I'm already halfway there. That's one thing I'm sure of. But one thing I'm not sure of is what the referee is thinking.

True. Like what Lifehouse said (please ignore my constant allusions to Lifehouse, I'm obsessed with Jason Wade): "Silence is golden, but I think it's gonna kill me now."

His silence (or maybe the referee's a "her") is really killing me now.

She's so unreadable. But at the same time maybe I'm just taking the ball with a grain of salt. You wanna know what I think? I think there's been too much salt in my life lately. Apparently, there are only two options: either swallow the salt or throw it away. Barf it away. You can't really do anything halfway, can you? At least, I can't. That wouldn't be Catherine at all, you guys.

Maybe I should just sharpen my senses?

After all, it's just a stupid baseball game.

SATIRE! Soulja WHAT?

If you know me, you'd know that I care about the world. Right?

You know that I don't sit on my arse all day thinking about crappy stuff like, maybe, a nonexistent palace in the sky. I don't listen to music without my mind functioning.

You know that I care about promiscuity, about Obama and Clinton - and their recent comedic appearances on TV, about stupidity, about overcrowding and overpopulation, about the world's worst Hollywood actors and actresses, about Lindsay Lohan's sobriety and about feminisim, marxism, even feudalism!

But, guess. I care most about: global warming. And global warming often leads to pollution. And pollution, in the past, made me think of air pollution, land pollution AND water pollution. BUT now is totally different.

Noise pollution.

And noise pollution means Soulja Boy Crank Dat Tellem whatever. Consider me a downright antipatica, if you may. Consider me a bee, if you want. Consider me a hater, even. I just want to get my point across.

SOULJA WHATEVER sucks. If I hear another one of those crappy, worthless, and senseless inutile lyrics or words that don't mean a single thing when combined, I will terminate and vaporize the nearest TV screen (and that's my flat screen TV).

His music, if you can call it "music" and not "noise" is totally placing a barrier towards communication and it obstructs the true meaning of "art". As an artist and a lover of music, I have the right to say: He sucks.

I know what you may think. "Who does she think she is? Criticizing Billboard's and the music industry's overachieving musician? Heck, she hasn't even sold a bestseller! This antipatica should just shut her mouth up, you know! Doodz, she's like so boastful! She thinks she knows art! Damn this woman! Scorn her!"

For the love of Lifehouse! Look at his name! Is that, what, a satiric parody? As a fan of the music industry, I am so aware that Destiny's Child released a single called "Soldier" way back then. I do believe that Soulja whatever decided to, maybe, play a spoof on them?

I care about people who have tinnitus and other ear-related symptoms. Really. I'm not the only one who hates this. I represent the handful of people who keep their voice on the low as they are afraid that Soulja whatever might send a group of grammatically-challenged, tone deaf producers out here on the run.

One more thing, the more you play Soulja whatever's song on your MP3, and put it on LOUDSPEAKER, the more people die of dizziness. This thing called an earphone has been invented since the 90's so to keep your disease, baleful noise pollution kept under scrutiny and reclusion. HAVE YOU EVER HEARD PEOPLE LIKE ME GO ON PUTTING THEIR SONGS ON LOUDSPEAKER WHEN "HANGING OUT" IN THE STREETS? No.

Soulja is taking advantage of his ghetto-black appearance. I have all the respect for all the races in the world, but I really have a personal distaste for Soulja's soul.

So what's it gonna be? Crank 'em wit dat hoe and dance 'em up in ya toe? Watchin' 'im supah soakin' he hoe? Placin' 'im a supah man in he gig?

Whatever, soulja. Hey, I know your song. Just so that I could hate it in detail.

Here's a better one with Cameron Diaz classing it all up. Yes, classing it all up. Cl-Ass.

No Name Face

It's simple, plain and a piece of cake.

Even though I have turned into a different color this summer, even though I still spend time with my closest friends and have fun with them in that pursuit, even though I have gained nice, new summer friends, even though I'm a mathematical genius once again since my brain wanted it back, even though I try my best to get an A+ on this subject called "being human", even though I feel fulfilled now, something just goes wrong.

S0mething is going wrong currently in my system.

This something is something I haven't felt for the past year.

This something is a little bit on the verge of scarring my mind.

This something is pulling too much pranks and mind games on my day-to-day life. And I am a hundred percent sure that it would seep through the school year - which, if you ask me, is a bad thing.

This something is a little thing called jealousy.

I have the power to be jealous, and I am in the right vantage point to get jealous.

It's not even envy. It's just jealousy.

What am I supposed to do? JEALOUSY is something you cannot let your soul control, it's like a reflex. And how do you douse reflexes, huh? By throwing reflexes back? To make this person jealous? This person doesn't even know how to get jealous, dammit! Is he/she/it doing it on purpose? Seriously?

There has to be some way! I mean I'm at wits end here, sitting here, typing this damned message when I KNOW for a fact that while everything here is killing me, everything that's killing me is making him/her/it alive. WHY?

Why does this kind of thing happen to me?

Am I supposed to just sit here and watch ANTM to make all the jealousy go away?

Am I supposed to ignore this kind of thing and start memorizing the value of Pi? Am I supposed to turn my head and start going to the gym to neutralize this kind of feeling?Am I supposed to pull a Lindsay Lohan and start focusing on my "career" instead of my party life - or whatever "life" this person is in? Am I supposed to ignore it? I know for a fact that ignoring an emotion, a feeling, a thought is like provoking it. Down with the torpedoes, full speed ahead. And that's where this feeling is going - full spead ahead.

To hell with this emotion. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Dammit.

Can I just refuse to acknowledge this feeling? It's a Monday, after all. A Monday that isn't even rainy enough to shatter my shield. My invisible shield. Whatever that may be.

Am I supposed to sit here, just like that? HOW CAN I GET RID OF THIS? I'm not even insecure anymore! Just jealous. Really. Just, just jealous...that destiny didn't provide me the right place, right time, right feeling that is meant to be pursued.

Now I'm stuck here listening to something called "Broken" by Lifehouse.

Requiem for a Dream

This is the interlude to cynicism.

Or, dear friends, must I say that this is the postscript to my dead hopes, dreams and delusions to the dark side? The side where, I, of all beings, succumbed to DEATH himself.

You may all have noticed a slight upturn in my style, my gait or my words. But do you see a familiar silhouette behind THESE lines. Yes, the lines you are currently reading? Do you see the "old me" somewhere here? The "me" that you hated, despaired and ... mocked? DO YOU?

Well, I do hope so. Because I see her clearly now.

I threw her away.

I got a new "me".

I threw that "me" away.

I got a new one again this summer. But this "new one" is actually a mixture of the above mentioned two. Minus the transparent sins, flaws, faults, and most of all insecurities. Plus the more innocent, more well-behaved, less procrastinating epitome of a true artist. An artist who is in touch with both reality and fantasy. The former was one I used to blend with the latter.

What I'm basically trying to say is that: If you wanna get to know me, which is a Draconian task, don't judge me from my past. The posts before this post were written by the hateful, dark "me".

Whatever.

In short, I'm an artist and an activist-psychologist at the same time. My sole mission is to help people. Summer is actually the only time I get to help myself. So bear with me, please! I'm also trying to expand my social empire, so, again, bear with me. Puh-leez!

I don't think we're talking about change anymore. Change is change. Change is different.

Now what I'm trying to do is not change. In fact, I'm trying to tell the world that I've changed - that people do change despite what my "fat" sister stated a year ago (she said: "People don't change. They only wear masks.").

I'm proud of myself. I'm my linguistic ego again!

'Tis my postscript:

Goodbye dead dreams, dead hopes, dead fate. With this day, you all will sink in the Waters of Lethe - the favorite place of mine as a kid.

Here I am feasting on a new golden platter - one that I created by myself, while my antediluvian ego mourns in requiem for my ill-disposed dreams.

This is the prelude to divine intervention.

Death

Today is my demise.

I just.....

Sheesh, I don't know what to say. I don't even know what to think. 

Okay, okay. Uhm, disclaimer. It's bad. Really bad to put up a disclaimer here. Thanks to my guts, I've managed to show face in the face of humanity. 

I am ashamed of myself. I have committed a major sin - one that I cannot go back to, one that I cannot erase, and one that cannot go away from me forever. 

Or should I say from my BLOG?

Hmmph. Well, that sin is, guess what, grammatical errs. While it is ethically wrong to correct other people's grammar, as has been stated by I don't know who (but I swear it's morally and ethically wrong now), it is the duty of our world's flaw-finders (namely, ME) to FIND them. Lately, I have been lusting to retrieve my old blog since I wanna know who I used to be. Now that I changed, I have completely lost my memory and am in such  desperation to get a glimpse of what it was like to be in my shoes. But, no. Stupid Me deleted the crucial blog - it was a reflex. Just an impulse from a compulsive person like moi. Kids, that's not advisable. Do NOT  EVER delete your blog. EVER. EVER. EVER. 

Now I'm thirsty for yet another trip to memory lane. AND GUESS WHAT? In the moment of blogging back in the old blog, I stopped writing in my diary (kids, don't do THAT. Blogs are for people who don't HAVE diaries, dammit). So, as some of you know, I have this "sickness" thing that is related to memory loss. I won't state what "sickness" that is, let's just refer to it as the "sickness". Basically, I have forgotten the details - the emotions, most importantly - supporting my LIFE as the old, confused, stupid Catherine. 

GREAT. Really. REALLY. What was I thinkin?! I swear I TOLD MYSELF that I wasn't going to regret deleting it. BUT NO! I have recently learned from my lessons. Yes, I'm a good girl now.  

To hitch a trip to memory lane, I began to be resourceful, yes. I clicked on "older posts"... many times, scanning the posts, and then clicked a few more dozen times....then POOF! THE SIN SHOWS ITSELF.

Grammatical errs.

Seriously, from SVA, to SPELLING (eek), to this and that and that and this and more and whatever.

I'm a witch! BURN ME NOW.

They're all typos (and up to now I haven't edited them).

Don't worry. I'm not getting linguistically stupid.

Now, as for another disclaimer, do you know who the old Catherine was? Because I sure don't! If you care and are excruciatingly bored, do let me know. Just leave an offline message. I don't go online anymore. Self-Doc says that it only increases the fatality of my "sickness"

There you go. My full disclaiming post about my demise.

Thank you!