Posts tagged with "writings"

As fate would have it, I have a haiku I wrote around this time last year that I never posted anywhere, so I guess it’s been waiting just for you.

6:15 am

Sun smelts the new day,

Behind eastern mountains, Clouds

like molten gold spray.

(Gettin a bit e.e. cummings with the punctuation and caps there.)

(ps - grumpy wet cat sounds about not knowing who you are.)

Dear Japan,

Dear Japan,

While I usually slide out a slick and concise sign off to a new country as I depart, given the circumstances and my long standing love affair with so many aspects of your culture, I feel something more is in order.

This stint of time, while short, has been significant and rich with meaning. Though my inability to read kanji left me ignorant to many of your subtler nuances, I unearthed facets of myself as I briefly pinwheeled through your mountains and cities.

I learned about myself as I learned about you. Such is the way of travel, yet this has been an encounter of considerably greater resonance.
For this I am very grateful.
More than anything you helped me rediscover my innate curiosity— something long dormant and sorely missed.

There are things about you which I will long for like an irritable burr-itch on my heart. The wonder that is the Japanese 7/11 will never cease to amaze me— that I will no longer be able stroll down the street and pick up a seaweed onigiri or tender red bean mochi saddens my heart.
I’m sure I’ll be craving the velvety, refreshing Matcha Latte for a long time after my return to the states.
So many sweets, the names of which I do not know, whose unparalleled flavor linger on my lips and tongue— a fondly remembered kiss.
The wonders of Daiso that have allowed me to kit my kitchen-ware entirely in acid green.

There are things about you I will never forget.
The arresting and unmistakable scent of cedar that snakes helter-skelter through your street and has permanent residence at your shrines and temples. It crests the wave of heady aromas which washed over me like an incoming tide.
The vast quiet and striking composition of your sacred spaces which smoothed every one of my live-wire neurons to serenity.
Your ebb and flow, your rhythm— an unerring timepiece of cutting edge design, elegantly carved from one thousand year old wood.
The striking beauty of your landscape— the juxtaposition of mountain and sea. The unending green of your forests. The layers of blue ridge-lines receding, fading to the horizon.

You are at once both baffling and familiar; and completely mesmerizing.

Thank you for everything, with all my heart.

I will see you again soon.
And when I do I’ll have a good measure more Japanese under my belt than I do now.


In Other News

Drive is a weird film.  Not bad.  Not good. Just…ok and weird.

Nice cinematography.  Feels like someone threw a bunch of homages and references in a blender with a box full of DOP Perty and a shot of hot pink and made a cinema smoothie.

Also two people have reblogged a post I made...last year at some point reporting the progress on my novel, how I slammed out over thirty pages in two days.  
Oh shit, my bad. Back in 2012, shiiiiii.
I am touched and flattered.  Thank you you lovely people!

$4 Happiness

Best four dollars I’ve spent in recent memory has to the quarter pound carton of dried bing cherries that I picked up at a health food store.

Their existence in my life will be blissful and brief, though longer than one might expect. 

Precious little can compare to them— a slice of summer reduced to dark and shining gems that explode like velvet fireworks on the tongue.

That Moment with Food

That moment where the oddity of an everyday word cold-cocks you on the back of the head.

Food, for example. This is such a common, everyday word we don’t think of it really, but it’s a very simple word, with broad and vague definitions for a large group of consumables. Tit for tat (another strange turn of phrase), consumables makes more sense, sustenance makes more sense— than food.

Food. Food is such an bizarre word and we use it everyday without batting a goddamn eye. Food. It’s one letter away from fool, two letters away from fog and two letters away from doofus.

And we eat it.

English language you are strange.

Even perhaps makes a lick more sense than food.  Perhaps is per and happenstance crushed together.

My suspicions are correct though, the Nords are to blame for this oddity.

fōda ; related to Old Frisian fōdia  to nourish, feed, Old Norse fœthi , Gothic fōdeins  food; see feed , fodder ]

This is the sort of shit I think about in the dark of my 3am mornings after breakfast.

Help Katrina Finish Her Novel

I have a few questions anyone willing can answer.

You can inbox or askbox to reply. :>

Think of your favorite national icon or building. Or all of them, if you’re an architect lover. What are they?
What does it/they mean to you?  Beauty? A symbol of romance? A new achievement in engineering?

How would you feel if they were destroyed?  No one dies in the process.  The buildings themselves are simply demolished. What does its destruction signify to you?
How would you feel if they were marred or disfigured, but repairable?
What does its disfigurement mean to you?

Thank you so much for your time. xx

Master Wordsmith at Work Here

He did, however, miss smoking, and no matter how purportedly bullet like, no matter how aerodynamic and streamlined this shining sleek steel turd happened to be, it could still only rocket out of Sweden’s anus and into the bowl of Great Britain at a certain speed, which for Corgan was precisely not fast enough.

— Cinder Bomb, Chapter 42- Trains, copyright 2013-2014, Katrina E. Kunstmann

Totally going to win an award.

Olfactory Obscenities

It’s Monday, and for most a most unpleasant day.
On the bright side, your house probably doesn’t smell like a morgue.

My domicile has been a carnival of offensive odors this past week, with yesterday and this morning achieving particularly notable rankness.

My room this morning smells like the last dredges of a stale ashtray blown through the salty annals of a dead sailors butthole, while last night the entire house smelled, for all intents and purposes, like a morgue.

My father has been defrosting out industrial size freezer (he used to own a restaurant, you see, so we have commercial grade freezers, mixers, utensils, etc). This freezer is packed to capacity with food both fresh and cooked, along with the roadkill that my father swears he will turn into this or that.

Last night I wandered into the kitchen to wash out the bowl I had had my chickpea moussaka in only to be assaulted by a foul, noxious scent before I found a greying leg of some skinned wild animal (most probably a deer which he either shot or hit with his truck) which my father had unearthed from the ice-encrusted innards of the freezer, which had been left to sit and thaw in a plastic storage bin in the garage whilst the freezer broke free of its icy fetters.

The meat was clearly bad— freezer burned, turning colour and emitting such a foul perfume that it surely would do more good to the carrion creatures than to any human. Two more flanks my father pulled from the storage container as he repacked the other thawing bags of whatever questionable edible back into the freezer.

I asked him what he intended to do with it.  He said he was going to marinade and smoke them. I looked him straight in the eye and said that if he died from eating that meat, I was going to laugh, and I wondered how long our abode would smell like a house of the dead.

I know that if I wasn’t vegetarian I would doubtless be forced to consume the fetid strips of flesh which he prepared— not unlike the time I was forced to consume the salmon roe he prepared and cured in house, when I actually despise salmon roe, full stop.

The window is open and the night air, refreshed by a misting of precipitation, is reviving the stale air in my room— the door is normally kept closed to keep out my father’s pipe smoke, but naturally it noses its way in.

A moth roused from hibernation by the unseasonal weather batters its wings against the screen. I savor the calm and quiet night-tide of my mornings, womb-like in the solitude and isolation.

My migraine has given me a slight reprieve for the time being.
Lettering, then editing.


I want to melt away like a drop of honey on the sunset, washed out among the electric clouds, spun like spider silk across the horizon in the coming of night-tide.

Dark and Wonderful Down Below. {Adult}

It’s been a long time since I wrote something for Elephant Journal, but I finally had something to say, so here it is. :>

An article about sex and it’s wondrous properties.

Give it a read a give it a share, it would mean a great deal to me.

It’s one of those days.

The winds have ripped the warmth away.

One foot in front of the other, I go.

Carving my way as I lie dieing.

Trying to figure out worth—

and why—

For when, as I lie dieing.

In my heart it slowly blackens.

Tais toi ma coeur.

I feel nothing but shame.

Someone give me a hard goodbye.

The winds have ripped the warmth away.

My reflection stares me down.

I shudder in the dust,

and continue digging forward,

this trench that is my life—

—I the worm—

awaiting the mustard gas to bring sweet release.

Or better yet to be breakfast for some fine flying winged thing,

To lift me up aloft, that I might see beauty in the world before I pass away.




On I go, keep digging,

Keep digging to the sky.

The winds have ripped the warmth away,

and I blame it on the blood.

Ballad of the Grumpy Yoga Beginner.

Heya kiddlywinks, another article I wrote went live and it’d be super mondo awesome if you guys could give it a read and share it! :>

It’s about yoga and how I’m an angry person. 8D  Enjoy!

Marriage, the Mystical Mystery. ~ Katrina Kunstmann

So I’m not gonna lie chittlins, I’ve been staying up past my bedtime to get work done and consequently I was really wiped out today and the page just wasn’t gelling, so at the advice of a wise cypriot, I took the day off.
WARHEAD will be returning tomorrow.

I DO however, have another article that went live on elephant journal!
It’s rather personal, so please give it a read and share/reblog! :>
At only 35 views, it needs some lovin!

Special shout out to tereghan in this article. ♥


And with that, BEDTIME