a pony i rode in my invisible dream

I spent an entire day feeling the invisible pains of others in my left arm, and envisioning something unspeakable under my bed.  These should have been nightmares, but they were most definitely daymares.  The worst of the worst, in daylight consciousness.

MUDDY

All of the blue and wavering green and colors I'd never seen, this weird time that I floated off into a parallel universe and never told anyone.  Dreams of grass and mountains and cold, crispy rains on my own face that I'd only dreamed to be another because the dizzy let me live in between the lines.  A dream of rivers, a dream of a red stream in the river's gleam, a dream of a consequence free everything and anything.  You don't know what you've done, and that's alright with me, as entering the splinter universe between the two is enough to muddy that, too, into one.

THE PARANORMAL

It's kind of creepy...my dog is looking up onto the ceiling with wide eyes, acting like something is up there.   One time on television, I heard that dogs can see spirits and ghosts and such (paranormal activity that most human eyes can't perceive).  I hope there isn't some sort of invisible demon sitting in the corner of the ceiling of my room...

On another note, tonight was opening night and it was cathartic... and draining.  But, really, really good.  On yet ANOTHER note, I can't stop listening to the new Joanna Newsom track.  Seriously, she has some weird hypnosis woven into her songs, I'm convinced.  I become addicted so easily. 

I cannot wait for the new album to come out February 23rd.

Addendum:

I can never breathe at night, but lately my nose has been making some weird sound when I try to breathe.  It sounds like the wind howling way in the distance, or a ghost sighing.  Until I realized the sound was my breathing, I kept getting spooked.

NOTE:

This is in no way related to the attic sound.  That mystery is still unsolved.

FUN

I love looking at the "a few items recently found on Google Product Search" section when I click the Google Shopping tab.  It's actually really amazing.  I'm always thinking things that aren't art are more like art than most things that are trying really hard to be art.  The stream-of-consciousness-clusterfuck-masterpiece that is this randomized jumble of words is just that: spontaneous art.   

Here is an edited selection:

Lab coat, opera glasses, grim reaper costume, disco ball, inflatable kayak, baby bed, rucksack, pregnancy test, paraglider, power wheels barbie, electric flyswatter, lye soap, grappling hook, khakis, ant farm, scarecrow sprinkler, snorkel.

I need to stop.  It's so satisfying to keep hitting refresh and having a new batch of excitement come up.  I see stories in all of these unlikely pairings of items.  Like... someone floating on a body of water in their inflatable kayak, wearing a grim reaper costume.  Or, someone strapped into a paraglider while holding power wheels barbie and a pregnancy test.  Or a man holding a grappling hook and a flyswatter, standing in someone's garage waiting for them to walk in so he can attack.  Or someone wearing khakis using lye soap to make explosives, or maybe even the Scandinavian delicacy Lutefisk.  

The possibilities are endless, and honestly, this excites me.

WHOOPS

 Good!

There are strange things going on above me.

There is a strange scratching in my attic, and I certainly hope it is NOT satan.

I dig this video. It looks like something I would draw, 

or something I would animate, if I could animate better.

The Music from Down the Hill

Oh man... I went to type in "blogspot.com" and I accidentally typed in "bogspot.com."  I think that's actually very true.  This is definitely a bog... not a blog.  It's a messy, sludgy, humid clustering of thoughts.  It's a bog, totally.

Anyway...I'm in this play.  At Civic Theatre of Allentown.  And you all must come, not just because it is only $10 (cash only, at the door) but also because I am fictitiously homicidal, possibly schizophrenic, and most definitely really loud and out of control (in the show.... maybe in real life, too, that's up for debate).

MORE DETAILED INFO, please come and support local theater!

To elaborate on the subject at hand, this play is definitely one of the biggest challenges in my acting career.  It's strange -- the character is so much like me, but she is a very magnified and extroverted version of many personality flaws that I keep internal.  I have to yell/scream/cry so much, I come home with a raging headache nightly.  I'm not saying this is a bad thing, actually, it's very therapeutic.  I am undoubtedly learning so much, about myself and acting.   The other night, my nosebleed could probably be partially due to all of this intensity, yelling, etc.  It's so physically and mentally taxing running through this show nightly, but so amazing at the same time.  I come home every night physically shaking (with adrenaline), while simultaneously being drained of all emotion and energy.  

Come see it!

Is my brain (possibly) bleeding?

Up until today, I hadn't had a nosebleed since 2006.  Before that, I hadn't had a nosebleed since 3rd or 4th grade, but they were really killer and I'd wake up with a blood-soaked pillow.  Well... I had one today.  First, in the middle of rehearsal.  Then, later, when I was in bed reading. The weird thing is, despite having allergies, my first thoughts are always "MY BRAIN MUST BE BLEEDING" and "Everyone probably assumes that I'm a cokehead."  I mean, who really knows, I have had the most wicked headache for the past 3 days (referring to the former, not the latter).  I have to go to bed, hopefully I won't wake up on a pillow soaked with brain blood.

SWEET DREAMS

hypotrochoids, headaches and cats

Pinched nerve makes my brain swerve, 

and makes my third eye writhe in its socket

with seething, squeezing pain.

Copyright Katelyn Roof 2010

"Birds of a feather, fall into a hypotrochoid parallel universe together." 

Pen, Marker and Spirograph on Paper

(My scanner is low-qual.  Ignore that.)

So, to make a long story as short as it possibly can be to be to prevent rambling (maybe):

After going to bed at 6 AM last night (this morning), I woke up from a strange dream at 10 AM -- a dream about cats.  I don't have a cat.  the last time I owned a cat, I was 9.  In all honesty, I'm violently allergic to them, but only if I touch them and subsequently touch my face.  I've learned to avoid this.  Anyway, this was not just any dream about cats, it was a dream in which I was photographing some sort of Cat Pageant, the kind that seemed like it was less of a cat show, and more of a body building contest or a beauty pageant.  Obsessed, crazed human after more obsessed, crazed human brought his/her cat up onto stage, one by one, parading them around, the crowd cheering.  Some really strange man with a mullet, rat tail, torn jeans and an obnoxious patriotic t-shirt came up behind me and kept molesting me as I unsuccessfully tried to exploit what was going on onstage by photographing and filming with my camera.  My camera kept malfunctioning, the crazy rat-tailed molester kept getting in the way of my best shots, and everything was just working against me.  Over and over in my head, I kept repeating "IF I COULD JUST GET THIS MOMENT CAPTURED, THIS WILL BE MY MAGNUM OPUS, I SWEAR."  I just couldn't seem to get the feeling captured with my photos and video footage (mostly because of the interceptions).  Then, I go backstage to interview the participants.  I talk to a bunch of them, most of them are wearing cheesy cat-themed sweatshirts and speaking as if their lives depended on nothing other than CATS.  Then, I go to interview the last contestant, and it turns out it is some lady who has her elementary school aged son dressed up in a cat costume.  The son runs up to me, acting exactly like a cat, except with his own human face poking out of a very realistic cat costume.  That's when my dream shifted, and I was suddenly in a dimly lit mall, wandering around, confused.  

What could this possibly mean? Wait.

I don't even want to know.

Well, mercy me

What a weird day.

Like, seriously.

If I could express what I really wanted to, I certainly would; instead I've been channelling it into listening to music and drawing, those seem to be way more effective than words.

this video is on repeat, since the album isn't released  yet:

Taxidermy-chic

The other day I came into my room, and I had left my vintage lamp on for several hours.  It had consequently burned a hole in itself... now I'm going to have to think of a creative way to solve this, I'm thinking a calico patch might do the trick (as long as it doesn't incinerate).  My eskimo black fur slippers have been helping me survive the winter, along with my taxidermy-chic mink fur stole and my flannel 70s shawl (that makes me look like a human blanket).  I feel like an Appalachian cabin-dweller come weird, reclusive cat-lady, but I kind of like it.

Taxidermy-chic vintage mink scarf

Vintage black (and white) fur eskimo slippers 

Accidentally annihilated lamp

Birds lined up on the roof of my house (seen through the skylight).

Weird cat-lady shirt found in the thrift store (still don't know why I didn't buy it, probably because it was ridiculously XXXL).

-kc

It will now evaporate and combine into the warm air pouring out of the metal slots; only to then diffuse into the air I breathe, thus coloring my dreams drunken.