NOVEMBER IS ALL THAT STUFF FROM A MILLIONS

This weekend I moved all my shit into my flat, cleaned and sorted out my room, watched the movie above for research purposes, donated pubes to a friend's in-the-works poetry/art project (and will continue to do so til about mid-december), bought Panda a Christmas present that I'll have to mail him soon, did a teensy bit of Primark perusing and purchasing as a reward, went to a private member's BDSM club and discovered some really interesting shit, had a couple drinks and a laugh with some really interesting and fun people who I will be meeting up later this week for a drink, for the LAM (London Alternative Market) and after party, and for a workshop in Bondage put on by Bondage conoisseur Chanta Rose. I have been shortlisting people's creative entries for a Creative Writing Competition our school's putting on that I'm helping out with, entered two of my own pieces, went to see Tacit Theatre's latest production called Scaramouche Jones that I got into for free because I agreed to be the press and review it for their website, got piss drunk at the producer's flat and spent the night there, scrambled home early the next day to write an article on cocktails for Societe Magazine that was due the night before (but which since it's a mag based in the US, I just about made the deadline, being 8 hours ahead), searched in vain for a secondhand copy of Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress which I am supposed to read for tomorrow's class but for which I will just have to use my memory (read it in my pre-teens) and keep very quiet, bought a book on Buddhism and one on Hinduism and made very tasty risotto.

And now I have the flu. But I wrote this because I felt bad that my absence has approached the 7-day mark, and I still want you to read me. But I'm afraid, this week is going to be just as hectic as the last so posts will remain sporadic. I've got about 3 articles due this week, more competition entries to shortlist, class, work experience at Skin Two, severe reading, a fake birthday party to plan and the bizarre list goes meandering on, and on, like the fucking yellow brick road. So have a look at the blogs on my list, will you, until I return next.

SO I TAKE MY TIME GUIDING THE BLADE DOWN THE LINE

Really busy schedule ahead of me for the rest of the month, and all the way into December: coursework, articles, BDSM reviews, satanic clubbing, daddy visits, fake ID birthdays, friend's legit ID birthdays, Russian BBQ's, Neon Nights, writing competitions and travel. Which brings me back to satanic clubbing. I might be going undercover for my fetish project to Club Anti-Christ for AC Lite on December 5th. Come and hang with me...if you even recognize me post-geared up. Here are some of the Satanic Sluts totally owning it. Jealous. Almost.

Bleed for Me:

Verdandi:

Tempesta:

Razor Candi:

Darenzia:

Eva Morgan:

Morella:

Nitrogene

Listening to Lacuna Coil tonight. Always a favourite.

THROW DOWN YOUR UMBILICAL NOOSE SO I CAN CLIMB RIGHT BACK

de~sen~si~tize
1.to lessen the sensitiveness of.
2.to make indifferent, unaware, or the like, in feeling.
3.Photography: to make less sensitive or wholly insensitive to light, as the emulsion on a film.
4.Printing: to treat (the design on a lithographic plate) with an etch in order to increase the capacity to retain moisture, and to remove traces of grease.
5.Chemistry: to reduce the sensitivity of (an explosive) to those stimuli capable of detonating it.

I bought this cinder-block sized Oxford dictionary a while ago that I'm just chuffed about. Something I've liked doing forever since I could read whole novels is opening the dictionary to random pages and learning the most attractive words off of it, making notes as I go (I guess I'm a born writer). I'm hurt. I think I also just fucked up a really good Venus razor. I really just want to go to bed, and that really isn't much.

I'm going to a Russian Barbecue today to do my part to save the earth and get drunk off my ass on some Stolichniya while listening to Regina Spektor.

So Panda doesn't want to live with me anymore. Didn't really have any plans after that. What am I doing tomorrow? Someone please come and get me.

TAKE ME TO YOUR LEADER

And here we have Pixie Market understanding my lust for exemplary plaid. Seriously, my wardrobe is fast becoming infested.

I THINK THAT STATE PATROL CAR'S STILL BEHIND

[Epicly Later'd]

Excited for this. Graduation. Moving to Cali. Happy Hippie Poverty. I promise to be the best bum I can be.

On another note, while I got all dolled up and met some friends for an outstanding Chav rendition of Othello at the Lyric theatre, (and Jen is gonna choke) MOTORHEAD was playing across the street!!! I was wondering why the sudden barrage of long-haired, dazed, leather-jacketed people at Hammersmith tube station. Seriously. My brain....

LEAVE ME HERE IN MY STARK RAVING SICK SAD LITTLE WORLD

So, I've been doing research and work experience at the popular fetish magazine Skin Two, which means, quite rightly as my friend put it, truly tarnishing any innocence I once had. But I think it's being tarnished for a good cause: journalism.

Anyway, so Tim the editor let me take home some of the overflowing BDSM/fetish/sex products he gets sent (including shit like this) for me to look at and see if they're worth me doing a review on. We had a good laugh watching the before trailers on this DVD and Philippe Leroy's house in the film is an awesome paragon of true 60's sex..and James Bond. I love ridiculous old Grindhouse-type movies so I bagged this film to finish at home.

CALL IT WOMEN'S INTUITION, BUT I THINK I'M ON TO SOMETHING HERE

Anything to distract me from the task at hand (today's un-ticked collegiate tasks in my planner)...

FIVE THINGS IN MY BAG:
-Esse Menthol Cigarettes bought in Abu Dhabi months ago
-A very tiny bottle of CK One Summer from the travel edition pack I bought in NY duty free (can you tell I'm showing off?)
-Curious Pleasures: A Gentleman's Collection of Beastliness (picked this book up from the Skin Two office and plan to do a review on it maybe)
- microwave popcorn packets for later
-White quilted Chanel wallet given to me for Christmas by a really nice girl back in Dubai


FIVE FAVOURITE THINGS IN MY ROOM:
-this really pretty colourful demon mask I haggled for outside the Great Wall (yeah, don't think I'll be stopping with the boasting anytime soon. Too smug right about now)
-my Sony Vaio laptop
-fake fur coat I bought in a Charity shop recently for £20
-sunglasses collection
-mom's vintage Madonna-esque bustier that I brought over with me for my last year of London mayhem

FIVE THINGS I'M CURRENTLY INTO:
- the London Fetish Scene : PVC, Femme Doms, violet wands and BDSM merch (working on a big article)
-planners and calendars (my life has been meticulously documented as of late due to busy-as-fuck-ness
-Diana Wynne Jones novels, particularly Howl's Moving Castle and Castle in the Air
-being a real journalist (I'm working on like 7 different pieces at the moment, all due next month)
- butter on toast

FIVE THINGS I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO DO:
- volunteer to be a body snatcher in Thailand
- speak fluent Japanese
- own a tansier monkey
- be a violently seductive bitch
- write a novel

I WAS CAUGHT LIKE A MOTH WITH ITS WINGS OUTTA SYNC

Mafia Hunt brought this guy Richard Sorger's shit to my attention. Not much into all the other glittery sequined particulars on the website but these are worth mentioning I think.

THE ARTIST MUST RETAIN HIS SWAGGER

Hi. This is a picture of a guy called Neon. Neon. Nothing more awesome presented itself to me this week (actually not true, but, yuh kno...). I want that nickname. Can I be the female version? And that reminded me that there's a neon night party coming up VERE soon that I consider myself the guest star of and am totally amped and ready to own it with my new laces. Anyway, just so I don't get in trouble, that picture's taken from this epic chick's blog called Reality No-Show, and this is her:Beverly Battle, otherwise known as a member of the bevy of girls of my dreams, which includes, and certainly isn't limited to Gnarlitude Jen, Tasha Tilberg, Omahrya Mota and Meli over at Mafia Hunt.

And I got word back from my marriage proposal to Dan Hillier in a really nice email that'll have me over at Brick Lane's Sunday Up Market for sure next weekend (and not only because I'm going Christmas shopping with Becks. And not only because I have to exchange a sweater) :


"Hey Kara,
Thanks very much for your comments - always nice to see where my work's popping up, though you'll have to ask my father's permission for my hand in marriage and he's a hard nut to crack...
Your blog's great.
Hope to see you by the stall again sometime.
Take care,

Dan x"

HI DAN! BYE YOU!

I KNOW WHY THE CAGED BIRD SINGS

Currently distressed as fuck. I was just having a conversation on skype with Panda and he sent me a link on current news on the creature above, the tarsier. As a child, I used to leisurely flip through this intricately detailed and picture laden cinder-block sized manual of all God's animal wonders and picture a day in the life of them. Well, one such animal I marvelled at and fell in love with back then was the tarsier. So finding out that I would rather have one en lieu of a real life baby but that it's impossible to own one because they're endangered, hit a soft spot just now. We started stringing together these wild thoughts of me volunteering to care for them in the Philippines for a brief period some time after graduation. And that made me tear up, because I know that's never going to happen. What's even worse is that I think if I were to spend some considerable and ridiculous amount of time with one, I would be able to stop taking Prozac. I could see myself a happy hippie with this thing in my palm (THAT TINY!). So allow my misty-eyed self to reminisce on what it would be like to care for a tarsier.

HOW TO TAKE CARE OF A TARSIER [courtesy eHow.com]

Step1 Be careful. Be safe. Tarsiers are a tropical, endangered species that can carry and transmit parasites and worms to humans.

Step2 Protect yourself and the Tarsier. Tarsiers are an endangered species. I may have mentioned that). They are illegal to trap and sell as pets, and may be illegal to keep as pets. You may be looking at a very nice fine if you have one.

Step3 Tarsiers are nocturnal animals that seek tropical forests environments at night to feed on insects and small creatures. If you are keeping one while waiting to give it to a rescue sanctuary, keep a supply of live crickets, termites, grasshoppers around for it to catch and eat.

Step4 Also note the word tropical- heat your place up, install a swamp cooler to add moisture, and plant trees- otherwise the little fistful of joy will go looking for his natural environment. At 4-6 inches in length the little escape artist will be easily missed.

Step5 Do not handle during the day. The tarsier is nocturnal, and disrupting its natural biorhythm will cause it stress- it may stop eating or start head-banging. Tarsiers in captivity live an average of 12 years, as opposed to 25 years in the wild. Tarsiers in captivity have been known to suicide. (DUDE...anorexia? head-banging? suicide? meant for each other much? but seriously, this makes me all the more blurry-eyed)

Step6 If you truly care for the tarsier as a species, don't consider keeping one for a pet. If you have one, contact your local animal rescue, zoo, or primate rescue to inquire about what to do. If you are worried about fines or the legality of your situation, ask anonymously.

*countless sighs...*

THE PROPHET SAID

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THE AWFUL TRUTH

I was a little disappointed about missing the Rancid show this past Friday (what's more is I think 'X' played that same day too), not only for the sake of bopping to Ruby Soho, but also for scoping out Tim Armstrong's latest garb, because clearly...

...his style is what you're gonna want.
Anyways, at least pretty decent acts are still to come (and I bet this list even needs updating). Slipknot for sure though.

THE CULT OF THE AMATEUR

This is me trying to be somebody and go somewhere, figuratively speaking. Maybe it's all the Sex and the City reruns and Fetish Feature research for my Writing for the Internet class, but I have become increasingly obsessed with power and making money with my writing. Yeah, I think I want money now, thanks. I guess it's taken me this week of voluntary lockdown to realise what it takes to be a successful writer. And I guess it's the ever looming graduation date. Anyways, it's there, like the carrot in front of the donkey. And now I have some interesting writing plans/projects lined up to appease it. Does anyone else think 2009 is gonna be your year? I'm pretty stoked. A lot of non-Obama related changes are gonna go down. I'm planning to move to the states, finish a novel, write some more shorts, work for a magazine, and I have my own personal project I wanna try out as well and I already have my first subject in mind. I hate being so vague with you, but really and truly, all this post is is a stream of consciousness, so it's pretty much gonna comprise of shit. What's also troubling me is that when I went to piss just now I found myself dreaming of Mexico again. I had originally wanted to move to Mexico for 6 months immediately out of graduation and see what kind of writing that would spawn, but this was back when I thought Panda and I were bringing our best friendship/awkward love trysts to a close. But it seems we're still okay. He came here, he took these pictures, he gave me a good laugh and it seems setting up shop with him in L.A. just might really be materializing. And I am going home this christmas to discuss just that with the parental unit. This is going to be one of those unforgettable holidays. I can smell it. And you know what else I can smell? Perfectly toasted slices of bread. My new thing has become butter on toast, being served it for breakfast at an amazing friend's house a while ago after a wild hangover from the night before. Butter on toast definitely sets you straight, better than any W. Burroughs heroine shots ever could. Forgive me, I've been reading 'Junky' just before bed every night to wind down from a day reading and quoting a vicarious stack of essentially dull required reading like 'BECOMING A WRITER' BY DOROTHEA BRANDE!!! OH MY GOD, WOMAN. DIED MUCH? TRY IT! DIE! YOU GAVE ME NOT ONE USEFUL QUOTE FOR MY ESSAYS THROUGHOUT YOUR 175 PAGES! Now, as you can tell, that shit really gets to me. But fuck it. I was watching an episode of SATC after every chapter. It wasn't all a dull afternoon. I pretty much fucking love Sundays. It's the epitome of ME. Do you have a favourite day? I had a really good conversation with my mother this weekend. I miss her a lot and I'm glad I quit my bar job because that means I can go home for christmas and squeeze the good shit out of her..and then tell her I won't be coming home anymore as of next year..*meff*. And I can get presents this year, which I missed out on a couple times. AAANNNDDD My birthday is in January just before we're meant to head back. This will be the first time I can celebrate it with my fam since I started studying in London, and so the first time I'll get proper gifts. I spent it with Panda last year and that was really awesome though, even though I cried my eyes out because I thought 19 was morbidly old. Well guess what, I'm not afraid of 20. 20 can bring it. 20 can suck Ben Stiller's Unit. I'm pretty excited. Because 2009 is going to be killer, for lack of a MUCH BETTER word. I am going to love 2009, and I will ALWAYS hate that book by Dorothea Brande. Always.

"if you have a skeleton in your closet, take it out and dance with it."

-Carolyn Mackenzie

WE BLAST YOUR MINDLESS STRUCTURE IN THIS 'B' FILM BORN INVASION

SO...Obesity and Speed. They're fast becoming a household name (at least in those households that house poor little rich occupants with a fierce sense of mad style). I figured it was time I jumped on that bandwagon. Honestly, whether I dug any of their shit or not I would still name-drop them every chance I got. Obesity and Speed. Names like that don't just materialise everyday. Obesity and Speed.

Here are my fave particulars in no particular order cuz I'm not particularly bothered, as long as it's there for you to see. Obesity and Speed.

OH, BURY ME NOT

I think this is the first time I am actually aware of what a sensory overload is. I've literally locked myself away in my paper-strewn dorm with nothing but required reading, toast and vodka for this entire week. I am not allowed to come out until Sunday. I've reviewed a myriad of ideas from freight-train jumping journalists disguised as hobos to complete story breakdowns of Jack and the Beanstalk to how the internet is killing our culture and assaulting our economy to fetishism (more on this some other time), and it has basically come down to the point where all the words on the pages are nothing to me but columns of ants. I'm officially fried. I smell like Satan's asshole and my fingers are trembling like a gramps. There's no coke in the machine at reception, so not even my smallest of desires can be fulfilled. But the worst has to be that it seems my novel is threatening to shrivel into itself like a penis post cumming; and after all of yesterday's literary enlightenment too! NOTHING. FUCKING. LASTS.

So as much as my coursework is nagging me and plastering itself to the walls of my mind like a Kills poster (GO AWAY!), ME time must ensue as of this ungodly hour. Shower. Fridge raid. Spread myself out like butter on a bed of toast and watch a silly Almodovar movie, that being Pepi, Luci, Bom (isn't that the sickest cover art?). DO. NOT. DISTURB.

WEDNESDAY WAS A GIRL

Last night.
Program:
Book:

Supplement:

Film:

Accomplishment: almost nothing. Just, yuh know, 3, 270 words on my chapter! WOOP! WOOP!