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midwestern defects

[ brass tacks | sold as is ]
[ just history | repeating ]

to begin: [Sep. 20th, 2010|06:53 pm]
avant-garde
 ***

Pause. Breathe. Stop. Think. Panic. Blink. Gasp. Question. In this one moment, I feel everything. Every emotion imaginable. And the questions arise like an army at attention. They march forth with such fury that nothing I've built to protect my heart can stop them. It's just the beginning.

If he lied to me about this for years...bold face lied, repeatedly...what else did he lie about?

Did he ever love me?

When I listened to him, with childlike eyes, were all his stories fiction?

All those trips, where was he really? Who was he with?

Was anything real?

If it was all lies, did any of it really happen?

When he held me for all those years...I let a stranger into my life, my bed, my heart, and my memories.

Like a vanishing act, my brain starts erasing everything. But the foot soldier's march never misses a beat. The questions keep coming by the hundreds.

I crumble inside and shake my head. This is it. This is what I'd waited on. This is when the other shoe drops. What I had feared since it all started nine months ago.

But, lets start at the real beginning. The chances and choices that shaped my way. The journey I chose, not the hand I was dealt.

***
18

The number we wait on all our lives. It symbolizes everything: lottery tickets, cigarettes, tattoos, porn, freedom, adulthood. Like a feral cat uncaged, I tore into eighteen like any young artist. I craved experience, and attending Herron School of Art as a commuter from suburbia was just absolutely absurd. I needed the city, and knew she needed me. Under very sketchy circumstances, I arranged my move from home about as quickly as I had made the decision. With an attitude so obnoxious, only peers would understand, I explained to my mom how perfect my plan was.

"Now, when you get a job..."

Her ramblings fell into a din of nothingness as I stared around my childhood home. Berber and checkerboard wallpaper, roosters decorating two rooms and quickly consuming a third, ball jars, tobacco tins, steam trunks, and plaid living room sets...it was as if one tiny ranch home could truly encompass every hoosier stereotype. It was bad enough to live just feet from Ol' US 40, but did we really have to be that red brick home with green shutters and a porcelain Sinclair sign hanging on the garage door? My father's hot rod memorabilia was proudly displayed in our attatched garage now turned "bonus room". Never mind those extra cars in the drive, those were for parts. We eximplify it all, proudly here in the heartland. Indiana made and I wanted out.

At the time, the furthest I could imagine was a little neighborhood names Broad Ripple. Only six miles north of down town Indianapolis, I would be close to school and right in the middle of a city I could barely navigate.

One friend, two cars, and a box of trash bags made my move possible. It was a secret mid day operation. My parents were away at a family reunion that September afternoon, and my brother was living in Cincinnati at the time. This gave me a solid four hour window of chaos. Literally, everything I owned went to trash bags and then into my teal GrandAM. Clothing, records, art supplies, knick knacks...everything was making its big move from Walnut Drive to Compton Court's apartment 21.

This bohemian two bedroom had stolen my heart from the first night we met. Through friends of friends of lovers, I had met Kelsey and Rhys the previous summer. My best friend at the time had been dating Rhys before she moved away to college. Somewhere around August, the bottom fell out of their young love and also his stability. With no job and no money, Kelsey was quick to find a replacement. She and I had only met twice. She knew me as Kiki and that I was a freshman at Herron. Apparently those were the main interview questions because when she asked me to move in, I too was without a job. But, fearless and positive I could find work, I promised to have September's rent in exchange for the second bedroom. I spent two days cleaning and painting the room, after Rhys' three months of destruction. Even with three coats of primer and a couple coats of paint, "SEX" was still visibly carved into the wall above my bed.

Now, as for how 21 stole my heart...
Link1 who will|dress her wounds

resistance [Oct. 24th, 2009|06:55 pm]
avant-garde
i laugh to myself, quietly. as i already feel my fears start to hold me back. it's silly how we cling to what we know. make excuses. bind the ties. weather the storm. i am resisting this urge to back down, and it is taking a monumental amount of self control. every day is a new battle, most i lose...but i view it like conditioning. one day, after enough preparation, i will prevail. it's very difficult to find strength sometimes. for so long, i haven't cared enough to worry about letting myself down. it was just expected. so not only to i have to recondition a body that's become used to being treated like shit...but a brain that has just accepted that as the norm. i can't decide which is more fucked? probably my mental state.

i can see it on your face, that you're dying inside. there's only so much somebody can hide. i know, oh lord i know.
-cory chisel
Linkdress her wounds

alone and asking [Oct. 18th, 2009|08:53 pm]
avant-garde
i have been dreading these ten days, like a plague of locust. not only because it would take me away from my beautiful studio down town, but because it would put me here. where it all began. for the next week and a half, i am house sitting for my parents who are off enjoying each other and the beaches of hawaii. this is it...this is what i have been waiting for, the other shoe to drop. i am alone. these walls are quiet and at night i can only hear the rustle of leaves synchronized to my heart beat. it's the first time i have listened in quite a while. for months, years maybe...i have kept busy and stayed social. it has helped to hide my own personal doubts. the truth: i am lost. i have been codependent for so long that i have forgotten what it means to live my own life. i know who i am, self identity is not the problem...it's the "what am i doing with my life?" that i have been running from. in the city its easy to forget. always something to do or someone to visit. each week of work, always just like the last. its steady. its predictable. its safe. but out here...with fields outstretching to fields its an abyss of silence. i have found myself not only listening, but asking. this isn't the life i wanted, but i keep making the decision to not change it. out of fear and comfort of what's known i stay stagnant.

a rut is a grave with no ends.
-a. lampkin


because of the divorce, i feel like i have started to change in such positive ways...that i cannot stop now. i will never become the woman i am meant to be, i will never complete this evolution if i cannot find the strength within myself to face this. its terrifying knowing that what's next for me won't be familiar. that i will be completely on my own. however, as my heart rate rises from anxiety, it also rushes with excitement. in all honesty, i have never had these thoughts or felt these emotions. i have talked the talk more times than i can remember. but, i have never felt it in my bones or been so consumed with the realization that these are my crossroads. this is my pivotal moment...i don't know where this road will lead me, all i know is that i cannot stay here any longer.

there been times i thought i couldn't last for long
but now i think i am able to carry on
it's been a long, a long time coming
but i know a change gonna come, oh yes it will.

-s. cooke
 
Linkdress her wounds

ambivalence [Oct. 9th, 2009|01:49 pm]
avant-garde
one death, two new tattoos, and three long weeks. i sometimes lose control of where my head is these days. oh, wait...over there (picks up, wipes off hair, smooths out eyebrows, then reattaches). it's as if my body, brain, and heart are all on different pages...all content and going their own way. i regain consciousness occasionally to communicate between the three. otherwise, its usually in autopilot. i have been going out almost regularly...which reminds me of the need to hibernate. i miss my cats, bed, and silence. i have been writing very frequently. it's almost like decoding why i work the way i do, then attempting to reprogram. well, more so just acknowledging behaviors. it's bizarre to be a strong woman who is suddenly shaken about, spun in circles, and told to walk the line she always did. i think these last few months were just those spinning blurs. now, the room is slowing and i am starting to see straight again. i will allow for those thoughts to remain ambivalent for now...nothing ever seems to make sense, but i still enjoy the moments in between.
Linkdress her wounds

ruthless [Sep. 18th, 2009|10:46 am]
avant-garde
watch the strings unravel, spin wildly out of control...cross stitch the seams of this broken heart. no thimble can take the sting from these calloused fingers. "we have to be ruthless" rings in my head like the spirit of this time. i question every intention for the right reasons, now. i am young, broke, and free for the first time since i left my teens. battered with lessons learned, i feel like no one will understand the places i have traveled emotionally. i have earned this badge of honor, a survivor of the smoking gun. with no filter and a skeleton rattled by fear, i force myself to realize that i am the company i keep...

i write letters instead of text messages

i drink coffee black and soda instead of alcohol

i love smokey bars filled with lost souls

i strive to be honest always, never hold back

i am scared to love again but always praying for the chance

i measure my life in memories made, not items acquired

i will never give up on anyone, just take time away in peace

i have healed my anger...maybe you should too

i wake up every morning grateful

i am strong, proud, and beautiful. i am young, broke, and free
Linkdress her wounds

it's just a little piece of me [Aug. 12th, 2009|11:41 am]
avant-garde

it's been eighty two days since the life i had come to know and love started tearing at the seams. i resisted every second of every day, in denial of what was happening. thinking that it was all just a nightmare, and eventually i would wake up where i felt i belonged. for one thousand and eighty hours i waited on the precipice...he never came for me. three nights that i can recall vividly, i cried until my body heaved with emotions i had never been introduced to. i screamed at the ceiling as the moon made shadows on the wall...and eventually faded into a sunrise. mourning my own life was something i had to learn to deal with...and persevere through. i couldn't allow myself to become stagnant. i realized, at some point, that there was a giant gap between the life i wanted and the one i had been given. it was then that i started to heal. i knew that for some reason the life path i had been on was no longer the right course for me. fate, destiny, human error...whatever you want to call it, pushed me in a new direction. and after seven weeks i began to make decisions for myself and adapt the equation of who i once was and who i am becoming into each new day. these moments define, and i may not always do what others feel is right. however, the truth of the matter is: i don't give a fuck. i am doing the best i can and experiencing life as an individual for the first time in five years. i am going to fall on my face more often than not. 
 
 but i can promise you...i wil keep gettng back up.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Linkdress her wounds

chapter 5 (to kill a mockingbird) [Jul. 18th, 2009|12:40 pm]
avant-garde
He staked me out, marked as his property, said I was the only girl he would ever love, then he neglected me. -Jean Louise
Linkdress her wounds

witness [Jul. 15th, 2009|06:37 pm]
avant-garde
There are just some kind of men who - who're so busy worrying about the next world they've never learned to live in this one, and you can look down the street and see the results. -Miss Maudie

i have very recently fallen in love again. miss maudie might be my favorite character in To Kill a Mockingbird. i laid by the pool for nearly four hours on monday. skin burning while i tore through pages of such a summer classic.

i am finding more of myself each day. like i left an unknown bread crumb trail as a "just in case" escape route. i don't miss a moment anymore, no regrets. with each corner i turn, sits another crumb waiting...teasing...encouraging me to keep pushing forward. six months ago i felt the floor fall out from under me. it was time, even though i wasn't ready for it then. it has lead me here. dear friends, friends that have seen me through all of this...keep telling me of the progress they see. i feel it constantly, but there is something about a witness that solidifies emotion. content again in the process of life, not the resolution.
Linkdress her wounds

dear john letter to the seasons: [Aug. 19th, 2008|07:20 pm]
avant-garde
 

i  feel like that episode of seinfeld where kramer falls asleep on the roof coated in butter. i think my insides are literally nearing 450 degrees. the front of the salon is approximately 16 feet high windows...even through black blinds, i can feel my flesh cooking. this is my last day here running the front desk for entourage hair design. i will officially be full time at metamorphosis in broadripple starting next week. i am very excited for one reason alone: sanity. the other day i answered the phone for the wrong place of employment...and today i keep wanting to give everyone 25% off because the tattoo parlor is running a jewelry special. (side note, word up for metamorphosis being voted best tattoo/piercing studio by nuvo for like forty two years in a row now!)

anyway, i am getting distracted from my purpose in posting this blog. it's hot and the state fair is now officially over, so bring on the autumn. i can't wait to retire ye old swimmin' hole and start cooking hot apple cider. four years ago i would have never guessed that winter would become my favorite season. however, as i have aged, i have grown accustomed to hating yard work, bumble bees, arm pit sweat stains, mosquitoes, and allergies. all of which conveniently disappear around late october and do not return until may. we here in the midwest are now entering the questionable time of year...september. mysterious? more so than you'd think. every year it changes sometimes septmeber decides to bring out the frost in the first week. other times, it's scalding hot. so hot it may in fact require two t's = HOTT. none of us ever see it coming...but this year i am rubbing my rabbit's foot, crossing my fingers, and praying for some mother fucking frost.

dear summer,

i am over you.

love,

kirsten

Linkdress her wounds

it almost feels like never... [Jul. 15th, 2008|04:37 pm]
avant-garde

i can never wait for summer to get here, but every year it reminds me i was made for winter. the heat makes me sweat like a whore in church, and i inevitably give up on make-up all together. i do graciously enjoy swimming, especially our trip on sunday to the dunes in michigan city...however, i continue to dream of summer's end. turning leaves, crisp air, layers that are so perfectly appropriate, and car rides where my ass doesn't melt into the seat.  this summer has marked some incredible turns for me...i am finally, after six years starting my dream job.

*** at eighteen years old, i first walked into metamorphosis. i can remember to this day, the smell of a&d ointment filtering the air around me as i opened the door. i was greeted by an old friend working the counter and completely overwhelmed by the world i had just stepped into. the walls were lacquered orange and black, with each booth separated by beetle juice-like dividers in magenta and pink. every artist completely indulged in their work, ignoring the world outside their 10' x 10' studio. this is the tattoo shop of indianapolis that put the rest to shame. the artists are by no means the greatest in the world, i know for sure of many other just as talented and some even more so. but it was the quality and passion of work coming out of that building that set the bar. it's perfectly clean at all times and always running on greased wheels. i can remember the feeling that all the artists and owners were strangers to me...but maybe one day...just maybe i could actually be a part of metamorphosis. ***

here we are, like i said, six years later. i have since had work done by all of the full time artists and the piercers. over the years, i have gained friendships with all of them individually...however, it wasn't until this last year that the dream of working with them became a close reality. now, i officially start on the first of august. i almost cried when they told me i could start that soon.

cheers to a new job with people i love...and fall just around the corner

Linkdress her wounds

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