(Source: bubbelsoda, via inspiremydreams-deactivated2012)
December 2, 2011
November 15, 2011
November 5, 2011
October 8, 2011
(Source: 79ideas.org, via inspiremydreams-deactivated2012)
October 8, 2011
Hello
I had to leave the blog world for a minute. I’m sorry to have left you hanging. I didn’t know what to say. One sentence wouldn’t cut it with the way that my blog is set up. Moving took precedence. It was a huge, let me repeat, humongous undertaking. Never have I ever been involved in any move this daunting, strenuous, or near impossible of a feat to pull off. It was treacherous. It was exciting. It was stressful, to say the least.
At one particular moment, I was shaking, convulsing in full body waves from the inside out. It was very scary, in moments, large moments, that seemed to last a lifetime. This was not any ordinary move. For the space that I had been living in before, was so tiny, that two people could not pass each other. Boxes were piled high everywhere, as a means for living. Because there simply was no space, no closet, no place to eat, no place to sit for more then one person, no bedroom for me with a door, and no place to put my things, but piled high up against the wall.
I wasn’t the only one. Mom had lived there for twenty five years, much longer then me, since I had moved back in some time ago. She didn’t have enough room for her things, let alone room for me. So her possessions were stacked up in boxes as well.
Now in the new home, there is space, space for everything. There is a room for me, with a closet. It is super tiny, but it has a place to hang my clothes. The bedroom is huge. There is a dining room, two bathrooms, a yard with a fence, a garage, and a living room that can be used for one, rather then a place for me to sleep.
The garbage which attempted to masquerade as furniture has been thrown out, with new furniture that is meant to be furniture, beautiful in it’s splendor and magificent esthetic appeal, in it’s place. I can now ooh and ahh at not only having enough, but also that it is nice on the eyes. I feel like I’m in wonderland. It’s so beautiful.
I’m back. Now I am living in a real home, that is meant to be one at that, with room to grow. No longer having to live with floors that are falling in, a roof falling in, nor black mold….I no longer have to hear the neighbors every single move, breath, word or deed. Now I can have privacy. Now my health is not threatened by the very place in which I must live. It will regulate the temperature too, and doesn’t have to feel like I’m outside camping in the open weather anymore. No, now my house has it’s bases covered, and may actually encourage me to become healthy some day. There is room for creativeness, and for sleep. I even have the sink modified for my handicap. That means less pain on my feet. Maybe they won’t swell as much. There is also a place where I can build a garden or two. And there are two fruit trees which need attending to.
Strange to think that I may be here for the rest of my life. But that’s a good thing too.
Greetings,
Kat
Picture Reblogged: inspiremydreams Prose: (C) Kat Lyons
September 24, 2011
Hush
Picture Reblogged: girlinlondon
They idolized her. They worshipped her. They were in awe of her. They lusted after her. They daydreamed of her, for she was the girl of their fantasies. What they didn’t realize is that she was smarter then that. She knew what this stuff was made up of, false illusions, false assumptions, cotton candy, something that wasn’t real, not tangible, for it would disappear when touched.
She could have taken the gravy train home. But she was more then that. She wanted what was real. She was good in heart, and not fake. She understood her role that she played, and why she was supposed to play it. But that wasn’t her. She read them like a book. More then that, she saw things that were incredulous at first. The map of psychology in the male mind and how it affected societal standards and business practices alike….The things they themselves did not see, could not see, would not be honest enough with themselves to admit, the tragedy behind the male subconscious and how they have a deep seated need to subordinate the female. It was sad. But it was an education. Her awareness taught her things, by watching, by talking, by asking questions, by observing everything that went on around her with other people and their actions.
She was attacked. She was beaten. She was raped, multiple times. She was harrassed everywhere she went. She was stalked. She was accused. She was torn. She was in disarray. For they cornered her, on every street, and every alley and byway. There was no place where she could be safe. They hunted her like a prize. They attacked her like an animal in heat. But she wasn’t. She was just a girl, dressed in a woman’s body. They encircled her, snarling at her, nipping at her heels. She pushed them away, but to no avail. For they had her pinned. Being violated and injured in day to day life, by those she loved, and those she scorned, took away every shred of security that she had within her being, until she simply shook, inside, non stop.
And so she finally learned how to fight back. And she hid. She went away, inside walls, that were thin. Too afraid to answer the door, too wary for a simple cup of coffee at the cafe, she locked herself in her little prison, and threw away the key. She was safe.
Copyright Kat Lyons
Picture Source: *iNeedChemicalX Picture Reblogged: lonelypearl
September 22, 2011
Lemon Meringue Pie
Picture Source: Flickr / ceciliasun Picture Reblogged: thouartminenow
She has been hungry, longing to suffer less, to give more, to create and do, to be, to become, and to feel empowered. She has a strange way of looking at life. For she realized that there was a vast uncharted territory for that which has not been discovered or created. Therefore instead of looking to the age old wisdom which drops from their lips like honeycomb, she instead would stare blindly like a deer in the headlights, and turn left or right, away from the dissent. Then she would go about her business. Now this has caused her some distress, for risk does not always mean reward. This was one of her mistakes. She assumed that if she risked, and risked, and risked, for love, for the ideal of love in art and creation as an assignment from God, then the reward would have to come. She did not believe that fail was an actual word to be used in her vocabulary. But fail she did. For one risk was too high. She fell. And in doing so she learned something about risk. You must take into consideration what would happen if you did not succeed, in whatever endeavor in which you are risking it all for. Could you stand it? For if not, then the risk is too high.
But life went on.
Blaring voices, screeching cars, lights from the cop cars turning, a barren room in the dark, her hands over her ears, the pressure building, inside her emotions collide.
But the sun came out, and it all went away. She landed in a new life with new dreams, ones which she hadn’t even considered. Wiping her eyes she could suddenly see again.
Never in a million years did she think that she would be here, in this spot, in this year. She thought she had it all planned, properly. Well not exactly. She knew, she knew that it didn’t all add up to two. But she decided to stop crying over spilled milk, and instead to make a lemon merinque pie out of all of the lemons on the ground.
And so she will get to open her shutters and watch the sun stream through. Her suffering is seemingly over, the worst of it that is. Her clothes had been in tatters, her hair as long as a horse. Now she gets to live again.
The papers are sky high, for they are all calling her. Fill out this and fill out that! It’s as if they noticed that she needed to run and they want to stop her. Because of this, they will make the move much more difficult then it had to be. Going from one errand to the next…This is why she insisted on a few days to rest. Because now it is time to run a race. She is at the starting line. The gun goes off, and she looks down the field as she feels air underneath her feet, as she passes by.
Copyright Kat Lyons
Picture Source: glitter-graphics.com
September 15, 2011
The Music
Picture Source: daydreamlily.com Picture Reblogged: sigilism
One thing at a time, are words to a song. It is something which she never wanted to do. But as time has gone by, she has learned that sometimes, it is the best method of choice.
When she was young, she wanted to be a singer. And she found a love for writing music. An opera came to her, through trial, error, and thorough sacrifice. She had to make the time for it’s arrival. She also had to work out every little phrase, twisting them on her tongue, one by one. Eventually, the phrases came together and turned into paragraphs. As the years went by, these phrases grew up and took on a life of their own.
During these formative years, she was told that she needed to become a singer immediately, if that is what she wanted to do. This made no sense to her because she knew what she wanted to become. She could not sing those notes, or those phrases, in that way, or even close. At college others said that she had a voice. She garnered an award for vocal recognition from California. But still, this wasn’t enough for her to begin professionally. Because she had her own ideas of what technical skills that she wanted her voice to perform. It was nowhere near this. At that point in time, it looked impossible. She would have had to settle for being a different kind of singer then what she wanted to be. She could have done that. But she wanted to learn how to sing, in the way that she dreamed of when she listened to the radio. And so she waited, and learned.
What she didn’t realize, is that sometimes, you can’t control fate. Sometimes, it controls you. This meant that accidents occurred which stretched even her own timeline much farther into the future then she realized. Some would say that she should give up, before she has even started. But she dedicated her life to work towards these goals, and many more. So there is no way that she will ever give up.
Now the sounds that she wanted to do back then, are beginning to come to her lips, through training.
Not being able to write the music down on paper, has been her achilles heel. But soon, there may be a way for her to be able to over come this delemma. Then she will able to finish what she started, and to come full swing. She hopes to finish what has to be done, in the next three years. Deadlines have never been her friend. So she is not saying this officially, but unofficially. This is her goal. Then she hopes to put together her demo, and apply.
And if a miracle should come her way, and make it take much less time, they are quite welcome, to come inside.
Copyright Kat Lyons
Picture Source: Martha Stewart
September 12, 2011
Cornfields
Looking out over the cornfields, she was so happy then. Her heart lingered at the train tracks. Full of love for those with whom she had chosen, her bosom buddies she called friends, her heart wanted to sing. The glow all around her was brilliant. The house was in shambles. But to her eyes it was beautiful. For it had little stenciled hearts and hand written momentos in small places, leaving traces of those who had been there before her. The kitchen was quite large. The backyard was expansive. The view driving up was of field after field. Her heart was full of joy.
What came next was this little world in a bubble which she had built, began to get pin pricks one by one. For others were jealous of her success. They wanted a piece of her pie. Her cash she had to cover the bills, her long stemware glasses which she had bought, the alcohol stash which she had paid a pretty price for, expecting it to last for years to come…They all ate away at it, one piece at a time. Gradually it all came apart, crumbling down around her ears. But worse then that, was the destruction on the inside.
The walls began to shake, as she held her rifle to the wall.
The bugs were deposited in her attic, ready for when the roof fell in, to go all over the floor.
But worse of all, was her heart was found, hanging it’s hat on a place that wasn’t there. For instead of security, she saw reason to believe that he didn’t really love her, no. Not only that, but he would tear at the hearts and minds of any children they might share, and put her down infront of them. For he would abuse them all mentally. She saw this in a flash, as he yelled. And as his voice escalated, for the ten millioneth time, something clicked. He would do this to them. Not only that, but he would turn them against her. Rather then letting them be, and letting them all live in love, he would destroy them, from the inside. In one fell swoop, she saw it all. And so she decided she didn’t want to go there. No she couldn’t have children with him. She couldn’t even marry him. But her heart didn’t understand. It didn’t want to leave. For she loved him anyway. And so she stayed, until a few years later, when she found the courage, to love herself just a bit more, then she loved him.
Copyright Kat Lyons
Source 1st Picture: weheartit.com 1st Picture Reblogged: neonfairy
September 8, 2011
September 8, 2011
Puzzle Piece
Picture Source: dontcallmebetty Picture Reblogged: girlinlondon
The squalor has been sold. The garbage is soon to be thrown out, that masqueraded as furniture for way too long.
Poverty is strange, and so is beauty, two things that can’t be understood until they happen to you. Beauty in all it’s facets, ugly, fat, gorgeous, and thin, comes with judgements and a life built in. Poverty is not understood by any but those who have been there. For the rules keeping you in, are designed to not allow climbing; it’s simply a sin. Not only that, but built into the system, the mind frame of those in the cess pool, are unwritten rules, that help to keep you in. Buying clothes is considered an extravagance, because few can afford them in this community. So when you only have one skirt to wear for two years long, and then seventy dollars recently acquired is enough to go buy a few more, you keep it secret, you keep it locked down. Because they would scorn you for spending it on a “luxury.” So then, when you live with furniture that was bought fifty years ago, and has worn and worn thin, year after year, until it is no better then what you’d see at a dump, still they think you’re rich, if you can go buy furniture at a store. And it’s dangerous to let them know any progress, no matter how small. Because the person who can barely make their bills, is considered weathy compared the one who has less, so much less, that they go hungry a block down the road. Some will steal from their neighborhood, because they see a little as being so much more. Yet desperation, and disgust at one’s circumstances, is something they all live with in this part of town.
So it’s nice when one bright soul, who isn’t even a friend, from a few paces down the road, says congratulations for getting out. What a beautiful soul.
Copyright Kat Lyons
Picture Source: Notify Me If You Know Who To Credit Please
September 7, 2011
September 6, 2011
Last Night
Picture Source:weheartit.com Picture Reblogged:sometimesitshardlettinggo
They bought furniture. She checked online for six months time, bookmarking the possibilities, studying the nuances, and the price range. So when it came time, the options were in. Two places competing, which one would win? The one with unusual flair, and age old detail with incredible air, or the one with traditional lines, and a few spectacular pieces too expensive to take her there? The latter won the case, for at the last minute, it won the debate, by simply having a better inventory at the exact moment of the sale. Luckily once there, those once too expensive pieces, the price had already gone down, because Labor Day had great sales. And so they chose the living room furniture, her mother’s bedroom set, and a dining room table along with some chairs, all within five hours. Then they called it a night. With the dining table strapped down, sticking out of the trunk, over night. No where to put it from where they were leaving, and no one to help at this time of night, they had to chance it and chance it they might. In the morning it was still there. A new day dawning, soon they will get to live like two regular citizens, leaving behind the squalor, and saying good night.
Copyright Kat Lyons
Source: Ashley Furniture
August 31, 2011
(Source: s-piritual, via blurredmind-deactivated20110907)
August 31, 2011
Jumping Jacks
Colors in a wheel, spinning and spinning, where will it stop? Calling, and naming, papers on a secretaries desk, and something once dreamed is now slowly becoming reality. Internet research, window shopping and choosing, thinking and musing, arguing and bickering, stress and worry, all are a part of the cycle of buying a house. Personalities become hot, because deadlines loom. Conflict and dispair, bliss and heaven, this is taking me there.
Picture perfect home, a place in the hills, with a handyman whiling away the hours, day after day. Concerns and worry mounting, but choices once wished for are here. Thrown in the air a million cards, each must be answered in only a day. Study and research, all not for nothing, for now is the time that it is the locomotion to the machine. Bumps in the path, it’s not quite all that, she has her way, and I have my way, clashing like two titans who have to agree. Finding commonality in this, moments never to be forgotten, stolen in a flash, with a salesperson waiting by her side. To freeze in time moments that go by way too fast, not much time, the pile is so high…Difficulty has reached new heights, for decisions could not be made, were not to be made, had to wait and wait year after year, until they are all due at once. Standing infront of the door to an open room, envisioning an idea, a choice or two. All has to be done, done right or done wrong….It seemed so easy when it was only to visualize. But the details of who, what, and where, and the surprising complexity, jumping through hoops, I can hardly wait to be there. But this is the fun part, amidst all the stress, like a cartoon of a lady at her desk, her arms flying a mile a minute from the phone to the desk. My feet are wearing out, wearing thin. The amazing capacity of others to stand for when. The capacity to do things, to go back and forth again, she’s worried her feet might give out, if she has to do this again.
Copyright Kat Lyons
1st Picture Reblogged: inspiremydreams
RSS feed: http://katsdailypost.tumblr.com/rss
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