quickness
current
warmth
I sense the change go over
I love it when I feel this way
I 'get off' on it
I enjoy making myself intense
to the left, connection
to the right, convenience
what I need is sleep
can't
I am warm
I am soft
I am moist
they know what they're doing
they've done it so many times it could be a song
contract, release
flowing like spiders spinning a web
ebb and flow 
only moments later and the dance comes to a crescendo I go weak in the knees
the world's in perfect clarity
primal
empowered
sensations for which there are no words take deep root and I slither like a snake in the hot sun
then the darkness falls and I am in my room again
the room comes into focus
careful not to wake him I go to wash my hands

Culinary School

I cannot explain the joy I'm beginning to feel with my life as of late.  My depression pills are working and the cloud has been lifted.  I feel so good about the state, I've never felt this happy for this long.  I'm in culinary school right now and I now look forward to my husband kissing me awake for school at 6:30.  I look forward to curling up in bed at 10pm because I have new goals I need to accomplish.  Getting ready alone in the dark together, feeling like the only two people on Earth.  New common ground for us and the prize for not getting to see each other for a week is that we chatter away for hours when we can manage.  There have many nights where we started a movie, only to sit and talk the night away in each others arms.  Worse is when I should be doing homework.  But our need to talk and touch trumps homework.  On occasion I'll let one child or the other sleep in our bed.  To fall asleep holding my husband and child is my version of divinity.  Anyway, I love food.  The food given was a deep part of what shaped me as a person. It began with bowls of ramen in Japanese shops, tempura given to us by the neighbors.  Japan gave a love of ginger.  Yokan in sweet rolls and pokey sticks on the porch.  Hawaii had a nice bit of food too.  The Filipinos next door would make lumpia for us.  FYI poi is not so good.  Moving around the US was nothing to being abroad.  Having an elderly Italian woman make homemade pasta is something I'll carry forever.  We often took trips to Various parts of Europe and one of my top priority's was sampling the cuisine of the people, by the people.  The wine we bought in the store we lived on top of was made 100 yards from our door.  I have been on a quest for it for years now in the with no luck.  The brand was just to small.  The ability to feed my children nutritious meals that they will eat makes me incredibly satisfied.  My children's minds are being shaped with each and every bite I feed them.  Not only will their brains grow better when nourished, but their approach to why and how much to eat as well as their pallets being developed now.  Food is number one on Maslow's hierarchy of needs.  I do seem to be eating less since school though, not enough time!  My life each and every day consists of 630 wake up call and back home by noon, get Kailee ready for school and drop her by 1230.  Court's school at 230 and Kailee's at 330.  Then I have a few hours to study, clean, or sit and stare at a wall for hours (the latter being my favorite).  Then school at 630 and home by 830.  The last hour between 830 and 930 is my favorite.  The kids are in bed and Ken and I sit together and he shows me how to do my math homework.  He makes it easy and gets so proud when I get it right that I just want to get another one so I can turn back that little twinkle in his eye.  He of course is very well versed in math, proving yet again that if god were real, he's fucking rude.  Couldn't share some of the amazingness with me could ya?  Dick hole.  It's all good though because he here to ride with me off into the sunset in a computer in hand.  This kinda turned into a stream of consciousness entry I suppose.  Marry Xmas.             

Wow

A half an hour, for real?  For real?  You are magic and goodness and bliss, all rolled up in one goofy package.  Bet you feel pretty self satisfied right now don't you?  I would.  You solved the riddle, found the grail.  Even today I'm getting goosebumps thinking back.  Only now you're going to torture me with it, which know you're getting a huge kick out of, and you're so very wonderful, but this might not be a good thing.  A person can actually get to much of a good thing.  Could I die?  That sounds stupid, but I really am actually concerned.  Enough so, that I'm going to finish this and start researching.  I'm just speechless, I had no idea a thing like this even existed. let alone for me.  I don't think you did either.  I wonder if everyone's the same.  It doesn't seem normal or you'd think I would have heard about it.  If I was with anyone else I have no doubt that information would have been lost forever.  Oh and though the north fell by the wayside in my thoughts, it was amazing all on it's own too.

I'm so upset.

I can't believe this happened to us.  Growing up we believe my Dad's love for us would never change no matter what.  Now he's chosen to side with my step mom to the point where he doesn't even want to see us anymore.  He used to be so balanced and cool, and just the right amount of strict, we think the sun and the moon of him and we thought he returned the sentiment.  I really tried to like her.  I was so happy for my Dad for not being alone.  I liked her even before I met her.  However, she started to chip away at my respect like a wilting rose in the fall breeze.  Amongst her many transgressions are things like, drinking and driving, kissing my best friend, belittling my father behind his back, I have a suspicion she's spending his money, bashing us behind our backs, she's an alcoholic in the true sense of the word, she's incredibly crude and ill mannered, everything she owns is plaid and from walmart which she loves to brag about. she tells my Dad that we are selfish and inconsiderate creatures who have the worst of intentions.  He eats up every oily word.  I lived for my father's praise.  I judged my self esteem based on his praise of me.  As an adult I took up shooting to be close to him, I watch old movies because we watched them together.  My father made me feel like I was his little girl and he would have my back forever more.  That I was a good person and did well for myself and that I am intelligent and moral.  My brother felt the same.  We were the three amigos and no one would ever come between us.  As it turns out all it took to brake that bond was a woman whispering nasty little nothings.  What shall I now believe?  My idol just told me that I was always a selfish, inconsiderate, bad person.  It's like finding out santa clause is a child molester.  I feel half gone.  I can't get my bearings.  I'm so messed up right now. 

Four dream vacations on my list.

Through the beauty of the internet I've been researching some fun vacation spots, though most are far away a girl can always dream.  So without further adieu...

The Island of The Dolls

This lovely scenic attraction comes complete with thousands of dolls hanging from the beautiful trees in the canals of Xochimico near Mexico. Their severed limbs, decapitated heads, and blank eyes adorn trees, fences and nearly every available surface.
The story goes that the island’s only inhabitant, Don Julian Santana, found the body of a drowned child in the canal some 50 years ago. He was haunted by her death, so when he saw a doll floating by in the canal soon after, he hung it in a tree to please the girl.  He also did this to appease the evil spirits of the island who come out every night.  Don Julian grew crops as trade for his precious lovely's and didn't mind if the dolls were in good condition, or missing parts.  Many of the dolls were fished out of the river, our dug out of trash piles.  His only contact was his nephew who would come take food in trade for dolls.  One day he came upon the old man singing.  Don Julian told him that the mermaids were calling him to join them in the depths and the only way to discourage them was singing.  Later that day the nephew found him floating along the canal face down in the same canal his beloved ghost had drowned in many years before.  Now days you can tour this lovely island of macabre souls, and boy would I like to!

 
Aokigahra Forest
Has such rich thick trees that the forest is dark, even at high noon.  Hanging from those trees?  Dead bodies.  Apparently the trend is to go down to this forest with your favorite noose grade rope and end your sad sad life.  What's the problem, you probably weren't using it anyway right?  The bodies have now totaled around 500, prompting officials to post signs saying things like   

"Life is a precious thing! Please reconsider!" or "Think of your family!" 

 

 

The Sedlec Ossuary

In the small town of Sedlec in Czech someone sprinkled holy water in the graveyard of a little abbot.  From that moment on people from all over Europe to bury their dead.  Without enough space to put all these wonderful dead things, the priests came up with the only obvious solution, use them as decorations for the church!    

Today, the Sedlec Ossuary is a chapel famous for being decorated with tens of thousands of human bones, including a chandelier built using every bone in the human body.  I have a hard time even contemplating the amount of work that this must have taken.

Lizzie Borden B&B

Lizzie Borden had an axe, gave her father forty whacks, when she saw what she had done she gave her mother forty one.  All the evidence pointed to Lizzie, she had motive and means, but this was 1892.  Surely the demure women of the 1900s didn't just up and hack their entire families to death?  Nope.  And so little Lizzie got away scott free.  She even gave her father's head to her lawyer as a thank you for all his hard work.  Now days you can stay at the b&b and much of the house is the same as the day of the murders.

 

That's it for now, but there so many more I've forgotten!  I'll have to come back to this.  In the mean time it's time to start saving money, anyone want to join me for a macabre vacation?

What to say, what to say.

Come on.  Get the hell over it.  I know why your emotions are all over the place, 42 hours of hell will do that to anyone, but you're not aloud to take it out on the person you love most in the world, who is going out of their way to help you.  I don't know why I even feel the need to dwell on this, we've resolved it, but you were being asinine and childish and it's hard to not go over it again and again.  All I wanted was to embrace and talk like we've done all our lives, but I got cold hard silence.  Looking out the window.  For being the person I admire most in the world you sure can act like a jack ass sometimes.  btw, I do love you most, so stop questioning it.  This should not even be an issue, but since you are occasionally insecure about it (for no good reason), I want to say point blank I LOVE YOU.  Good, now I never have to deal with it again right?  Done? Thank goodness.  I wanna tell you in person, but I have to settle for blogging.  So I guess if you're done being an over sensitive drama queen, we can get back to normal.  I can't really get to mad at you for the retarded anger and sadness, if I had spent 42 hours in cramped hell I would have been pissed too.  But since I can safely hide behind my blog, lemme just say you were acting like a stupid, childish, whiny asshole.  I'm not really all that cool with it, but for your sake I will forever pretend to be.  I was already having kind of a shitty day, and you taking out your completely misplaced anger on me just made it all the worse.  I'm not here to be the butt of everyone's mental instabilities, I have my own.   I'm glad you're finally starting to feel better now though so we can move on and pretend this never happened.  We're family and so I can't ever be mad at you long, our bond is far to deep to break over this petty ass shit.  Thanks for not listening.

Kristi.

Dear So & So

Though it's probably not the right day, I feel the urge to write.  My life seems so tumultuous right now, though it's only in my head I'm sure.  I feel I'm constantly battling myself and no one sees or understands why I can't cope with this carmed life of mine.  Anyway, without further adieu...

Dear Innocent,
I am scared to death of how strong my feelings are getting for you.  I don't know if everything will be pulled from under me and I will be left brokenhearted.  You are now so deeply in our lives that we count on you and you on is.  I would be crushed, torn to shreds.  This fear make me want to push away from you, don't get attached, she's not yours.  It also makes me want to love you all the more, spoil you, help you, talk with you, I just want to hug you to my breast.  It's quite conflicting, though it's not in anyway your fault.  I love you.

Dear Ann Frank,
I love you so much and I have been trying very hard to help you.  But you aren't the same person you were and there seems to be no way to get you back.  I am exhausted from trying.  So I have been distancing myself from you, which you've noticed and I'm sorry for that.  I just don't know what else to do.

Dear Crash Test Buddie,
I feel guilty when  think of or look at you, it's makes things hard.

Dear Peanut Butter,
You have no idea how grateful I am for you and how much I love you.  Thank you for being you, for me.

Dear Me,
When will you get yourself together?  When will the ride stop so I can get off?  Fail.

Seems so odd that the thing that has terrified me so much for longer than I can bear to think about is now the event I'm rushing to with open arms like one thirsts for water in the desert.  I want it more than all the trips, parties, fun trinkets put together.  Those things were only bought to slate the pain anyway.  I have freely admitted for years now, that I bought like mad in Italy to try and feel normal most of what we have now was bought in a quiet, unspoken desperation to feel something, and it worked, that day anyway. But the morning's light would bring it back to me again and so on want the sad spree to fill me up again for another few hours.  It was like a fix, but it didn't fix anything.  I might have admitted to the world, but only now do I realize how sad it was.  Ken want along with the whole charade because deep down he was also quietly suffering.  Now he's better and I stand alone in this dark embrace.  I'm being held tighter than my husband or children could ever hold me, an insect in the wind trying to cling to the concrete, praying I won't blow away, knowing all the while that a million more dangers await when the wind quiets.  I am touched deeply by how much I am loved.  Everything that man does is a genuine attempt to shield me from my world and keep me glued together.  When one pedal wilts and falls it is quickly fitted back on with crazy glue.  I don't deserve it.  I've been a burden far longer than a help.  But this man keeps up his tireless efforts day in and day out none the less.  I owe it to him to be the woman he remembers, and I try desperately to be normal for his sake.  Though I have never been worthy of such and exhausting efforts, without him and the kids I would die.  Those children have the innate ability to bring a smile to the cracked shell of a soul.  A hug from them brings a warm rush of feeling back to parts of me I thought were dead, and I would live a million years frozen in this cage before ever letting them see an ounce of sorrow.  They are the breath left in me.
I feel like I'm glued here.  I have realized that the most fascinating parts of my appeal and personality were either caused by my depression, or an attempt to hide it.  What if I am not the same person in a few weeks?  I'm enthralled and terrified.  I hate this space, but it's home.  What will I do if not embraced with this strangle hold around my neck?  Can I even be free?  Or am I so far into the system that I cannot function, like a man getting out of prison who then realizes they can no longer mingle in the crowd and be like their fellow man because they haven't the skills?  I'm scared.  Then again, right now it seems peaceful to be a robot, with a smile held together held together with strings of pills and doctor's visits.  No one realizes that when they grow up they won't be an astronaut or a famous singer, but will be contented by the idea of trading in their overly complicated personalities for a shallow happy husk, the heavy grief transformed into a speck, a dull ache easily dealt with.  A robot never feels despondent, weak, self loathing, useless.  I am sitting in the eye of my own personal tornado.  I'm so lonely but all I want to do is be alone.  Shut them all out.  I cannot function around them properly and with that smile anymore.   I wish that I could disappear, unzip my skin and leave it here, so I could be no one again.      

There's no earthly way of knowing
Which direction we are going
There's no knowing where we're rowing
Or which way the river's flowing
Is it raining?
Is it snowing?
Is a hurricane a-blowing?
Not a speck of light is showing
So the danger must be growing
Are the fires of hell a-glowing?
Is the grisly reaper mowing?
Yes, the danger must be growing
'Cause the rowers keep on rowing
And they're certainly not showing
Any signs that they are slowing!

-WW

It always spoke to me about being messed up, depressed, aware of it but unable to find the tools to fix it. About the person or people who normally help you cope are finally having enough, and pulling away, and how much that hurts, even though you understand why. But also, how annoying and frustrating those people are too, always saying things along the lines of (though not always as banal) "cheer up" or "it'll get better" "it's not that bad, could be worse,"
When you're in that situation, that emotional headspace, those sentiments get annoying, if cheering up is that easy, how bout you just "reach down your hand in your pocket, pull out some hope for me?"
You wanna say you're feeling fine but you  don't wanna lie so you just avoid answering the question or you just smile and look away.  Always comment on your children in turn, it's not lying the kids are great.  Sometimes you enthusiastically reply great!  All the while you're thinking maybe if I can just say I'm great in my head a hundred times I'll believe it, remember to smile, remember to hug, try to answer the phone more, it might be true if I lie to me enough.  In a breath I can lie to everyone and it makes me ashamed of myself.  But my head is screaming "help me!  Don't fall for it, push me I'm lying and if you walk away I'm a little scared of being alone with myself!"  Sure enough most of my friends have drifted off.  I'm happy for them, they can't pull me out anyway, all I can do is drag them down.  I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs.  I can't grieve properly for myself, I have emotionally died and I can't grieve because then everyone would pity me for being like her.  I hate her.  She made me like this without the courtesy of taking my sanity so I get to strap in and embrace the pain, wide awake.  What a cunt.  If I don't say it out loud it doesn't exist, if I just leave it it will run it's course.  Please.  Truth be told I don't see a way out at all, I hurt so deeply every waking moment that it seems infinite, to my core, clinging to my ribs and dancing on my brain.  So sharp I imagine only the deaths of children would be more painful.  I've never dealt with it before.  I had no idea.  All of a sudden I have more respect for Max.
As the late sylvia plath wrote in the Bell Jar...
"The sickness rolled through me in great waves. After each wave it would fade away and leave me limp as a wet leaf and shivering all over and then I would feel it rising up in me again, and the glittering white torture chamber tiles under my feet and over my head and all four sides closed in and squeezed me to pieces." "I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my eyes and all is born again."
"The silence depressed me. It wasn't the silence of silence. It was my own silence." "To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream."
"I am supposed to be having the time of my life." "And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long." "Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace."  Two am and I can't sleep so I'm looking up Plath quotes because no words can properly express the decay in my head and the torture it's been putting me through since the dawn of time I remember having these in Italy, these breakdowns.  I wrongly and crushingly believed moving home would fix me.  I lost any faith in god and I often wonder if the depression took that from me.  Puts Loosing My Religion in a new perspective.  But then I guess everything's already in a new perspective for me.  Like this world has been covered in soot.  Nothing's beautiful.  Everything's dirty.  It seems a shame that my poor little overtaxed brain should be rapid firing this shit off at me until everything freezes every few days.  Today I'm running rapid fire again and with not sleeping I desperately need the shut down but I just sit in the dark rapid firing pain, self doubt, guilt, shame, deep sadness and it feels like a cage around me that I will never be free of and will someday die in.  Do I even remember ever feeling real happiness?  I'm not sure... the results are in sad sad sad sad sad sad sad sad sad sad sad, death.  What a waste, this is my life?  This is how it's going to be?  What the hell am I going to do with that?  Why did I sign up?  What do I have to learn?  Is it all chance?  Are tortured souls just dealt out at random?  I'm simply overwhelmed.     

done

I am so so done.  I hate this state, I hate these people, I hate this awful, mean, unjust world.  I'm not threatening suicide, that would be insane.  But I'm getting rid of my facebook page, turning off my phone, and am going to cry in the closet for a while. 

Mommy issues...

     My mother is a paranoid schizophrenic.  Textbook.  All the cool movies that you've seen about people who think the government is watching them, things being bugged, pulling weird symbols out of nothing like in A Beautiful Mind, yep, she exists and she's my mom.  The whole family has been trying to get her help for years to no avail.  After all "they" are in charge all things to do with psychology and the pharmaceutical industry.  I hear this is a common theme amongst people with mental disorders, especially my mother's variety.  About a year ago my father went on a business trip and came home to find all the joint accounts drained, and a bunch of her stuff gone.  A few weeks later we found out she was divorcing my Dad, and running all over the country away from "them."  We have no idea where she is to this day, however we receive about 6 emails a day full of conspiracy ramblings.  Every time I receive one I open it right up and read it.  Why I read the emails I'll never understand, it's not good for me.  I spend the first hour laughing my butt off, and the next hour crying my eyes out.  I need to just give her up all together, but I can't seem to let go, and I can't help her.  She's so interesting, but then it becomes painful, and I can't help but spend half the day thinking about it.  Mom thinks the government controls most of corporate America, so I get daily lists of good corporations and bad ones.  Just to warn you, if you ever buy products from anheuser busch, bp, general electric, etc, then you're funding government raids, shakedowns, and harassment, for no other reason than to toy with your mind.  Also, big brother can send a pulse from anywhere and zap you, or overload your appliances.  If you ever even put a finger into an unlit room, someone from China will grab you and abduct you on the spot, which is why you need at least 4 light on in every room at all times, and never ever go out at night even if it's life or death.  It is life or death.
     My Mom knows how she sounds to me and others when she says these things.  She won't tell just everyone, and she'd prefer not to tell even us.  But we're her children and it is her job to keep us safe and alive, even if we're going to call her crazy or drop off contact with her altogether.  These emails she sends are her way of protecting us, they're really the ultimate act of love she can give in her frightened crazy state.  But they make me cry, a lot.
     I'm scared for her and I feel so sorry for her.  I'm also afraid I will become her.  When my mother was young everyone just thought she was a little off, the older she got, the more off she became.  I don't want to slip down that scary path.  The whole thing is a frustrating, upsetting, loop with no end and I just wish there was a happy answer, there isn't.  Oh by the way, she can't be locked up unless she's either violent, or suicidal, neither of which I can prove, even if I did find her.

Fillet em Friday

I hate to pull out the most depraved people first, but I just can't help myself!  When I think of cannibals the first person that comes to mind is one mister Albert Fish.

      When Albert was young he spend time in an orphanage, there he was frequently beaten, and after a period of time began to enjoy the beatings and become aroused by them.  By the age of 12 Fish had been introduced to drinking urine and coprophagia, he also began spending lots of time in bath houses where he could watch boys undress, and began writing dirty letters to random woman. 
     By the age of twenty Mr. Fish had begun to prostitute himself, and also began raping young boys.  Eight years later Fish was set up by his mother and married, having six children.  Can I just say messed up?  Now there are six more little messed up broken souls in the world.  But the dude was messed up.
     During his marriage Fish continued to molest boys (mostly 6 years old and under).  At one point Fish took up with a retarded man and attempted to cut off his penis.

     By 1917 Fish began to hear the voice of god. God came down from the heavens to send Albert Fish a message of the utmost importance, torture and castrate little boys.  It seems totally like god to say that, even the Catholics know that!  Those evil little boys, always being such boys.  Anyway, Fish also started inserting large needles into his groin, most of which went so deep they couldn't be taken out.

He began to make good on his revelations in 1910 and started attacking children, mostly mentally retarded and African American children because he believed they wouldn't be missed. 
     In 1928 Albert Fish abducted Grace Budd and killed her, later sending a letter to her parents...
On Sunday June the 3, 1928 I called on you at 406 W 15 St. Brought you pot cheese—strawberries. We had lunch. Grace sat in my lap and kissed me. I made up my mind to eat her. On the pretense of taking her to a party. You said yes she could go. I took her to an empty house in Westchester I had already picked out. When we got there, I told her to remain outside. She picked wildflowers. I went upstairs and stripped all my clothes off. I knew if I did not I would get her blood on them. When all was ready I went to the window and called her. Then I hid in a closet until she was in the room. When she saw me all naked she began to cry and tried to run down the stairs. I grabbed her and she said she would tell her mamma. First I stripped her naked. How she did kick – bite and scratch. I choked her to death, then cut her in small pieces so I could take my meat to my rooms. Cook and eat it. How sweet and tender her little ass was roasted in the oven. It took me 9 days to eat her entire body. I did not fuck her tho [sic] I could of had I wished. She died a virgin^...
     Shortly after, (thanks to the letter) Fish was caught.  In prison the mother of Billy Gaffney came to find answers about the disappearance of her son, fish told her the following...
I brought him to the Riker Ave. dumps. There is a house that stands alone, not far from where I took him. I took the boy there. Stripped him naked and tied his hands and feet and gagged him with a piece of dirty rag I picked out of the dump. Then I burned his clothes. Threw his shoes in the dump. Then I walked back and took the trolley to 59 St. at 2 A.M. and walked from there home. Next day about 2 P.M., I took tools, a good heavy cat-of-nine tails. Home made. Short handle. Cut one of my belts in half, slit these halves in six strips about 8 inches long. I whipped his bare behind till the blood ran from his legs. I cut off his ears – nose – slit his mouth from ear to ear. Gouged out his eyes. He was dead then. I stuck the knife in his belly and held my mouth to his body and drank his blood. I picked up four old potato sacks and gathered a pile of stones. Then I cut him up. I had a grip with me. I put his nose, ears and a few slices of his belly in the grip. Then I cut him through the middle of his body. Just below the belly button. Then through his legs about 2 inches below his behind. I put this in my grip with a lot of paper. I cut off the head – feet – arms – hands and the legs below the knee. This I put in sacks weighed with stones, tied the ends and threw them into the pools of slimy water you will see all along the road going to North Beach. I came home with my meat. I had the front of his body I liked best. His monkey and pee wees and a nice little fat behind to roast in the oven and eat. I made a stew out of his ears – nose – pieces of his face and belly. I put onions, carrots, turnips, celery, salt and pepper. It was good. Then I split the cheeks of his behind open, cut off his monkey and pee wees and washed them first. I put strips of bacon on each cheek of his behind and put them in the oven. Then I picked 4 onions and when the meat had roasted about 1/4 hour, I poured about a pint of water over it for gravy and put in the onions. At frequent intervals I basted his behind with a wooden spoon. So the meat would be nice and juicy. In about 2 hours, it was nice and brown, cooked through. I never ate any roast turkey that tasted half as good as his sweet fat little behind did. I ate every bit of the meat in about four days. His little monkey was a sweet as a nut, but his pee-wees I could not chew. Threw them in the toilet.
     Albert Fish was found sane and guilty, and was sentenced to the electric chair at Sing Sing, and was recorded as saying electrocution would be "the supreme thrill of my life."

It took two jolts to kill Fish which sparked a rumor that the large needles in his pelvis had short circuited the chair.

Albert Fish has to be one of the most twisted people I can think of, it would have been really nice to psychoanalyze this guy nowadays, so much to learn.  Though if anyone deserved to die it was him, sadly he lived a long full life until he was an old man, something he denied to so many children.
Anyway, tune in tomorrow for Spree Saturday!

Time for a midnight blog...

Funny how I only get around to posting in the middle of the night, it's a mom thing.  Today I think I'd like to write about one of my favorite serial killers, in fact maybe I'll write about a new one every few days, there's just not enough violence in the world these days, lol.  Anyway, today I'd like to spotlight  Dr. Henry Howard Holmes.

 

     This guy was fascinating.  He lived in Chicago in the late eighteen hundreds.  Holmes bought up a drugstore and then also bought up the spot across the street, there he proceeded to build a grand hotel.  The hotel would cater to mostly tourists visiting for the Chicago Worlds
 Fair.                                                                      

     This hotel was unique from others as it came complete with a maze of over a hundred windowless rooms, doors that opened up to brink walls,  oddly angled hallways, stairs that went nowhere, doors that could only be opened from the outside, and labyrinths.  Holmes changed construction workers many times during the building so people didn't understand the layout.  He then hired a staff (mostly female) and acquired insurance polices for said staff, and proceeded to torture and kill them.  And of course there were a good many hotel guests that also received complementary painful deaths. Some guests were locked in soundproof bedrooms that were fitted with gas lines so that he could asphyxiate them whenever he pleased.  Others were put into a soundproof bank vault near his office and left to suffocate.  Holmes set up a secret chute leading to the basement like Sweeney Todd to send down the bodies.  From there the bodies were further desecrated in twisted ways, and you know I'm gonna tell you how!  Some bodies were  meticulously dissected, stripped of flesh, crafted into skeleton models, and then sold to medical schools.  Others were cremated or put in lime pits.  The man thought up everything, he had two giant furnaces, pits of acid, many types of poison, and even his own stretching rack.  In one part of the castle Holmes also set up an illegal abortion ring, killing many woman and then selling their skeletons.

   
     Things went wrong for old Holmes in 1894.  He was tipped off by a former cellmate, the police also questioned a custodian who said he was never allowed to clean the upper floors.  Over the next month local police started to piece everything together, however a fire (probably started by Holmes) destroyed everything.  Death toll estimates range from 27 to 230, it's hard to tell because quite a few victims were only in town for the worlds fair, and some of the bodies were to well decomposed to tell.
     H. H. Homes was given 7,500 dollars in exchange for his confession of 27 murders, after first claiming he was innocent, then saying he was possessed by Satan.  Holmes was hung on May 7th 1896, though his neck didn't snap and so his death was slow and painful, lasting over 20 minutes from when the trap was sprung.  Holmes requested to be buried in concrete so that his body couldn't be dug up and dissected as he'd done to his victims, and his request was granted (assface).  Sadly, these days the murder castle is a U.S. post office.

I really wish he hadn't set fire to the damn thing so I could visit and take a tour.  I loves me a twisted killer with a murder house.  Goodness, maybe I could theme these with the days of the week!  Mental disorder Monday, Torture Tuesday, Woman killers Wednesday, Trapped in a box Thursday, Fillet em Friday, Spree Saturday, and Slow Death Sunday.  The only problem is that some killers will overlap by a lot.  Tune in tomorrow night for some tasty tasty cannibalism!

Day two...

I'm pretty sure that after a while I'll loose momentum and only write when I actually have something worth saying, but unfortunately for you guys I'm just starting up and am just enjoying myself.

So how bout that weather... no really.  Kailee and I went out and planted strawberries yesterday.  I'd like to dig up a little plot and plant a vegetable garden and Kailee and I can putter around in it and plant things.  So of course it rains like crazy today, lol.  I sure hope the strawberry plants will be okay.  As soon as it's sunny I'm going to the nursery to buy some mint and other veggies to plant.  I am so excited for spring this year!  I have never been so excited for spring in my life!  It feels somehow as though a weight has been lifted and there's so much I plan to do this season.  I've never had my own house for the spring.  We were moving for last summer and didn't have a lot of energy for anything else.  I want to paint Kailee's walls.  Not that there's anything wrong with the ones she has, but she's wanted them done since we painted her brother's walls.  I'm going to paint them pink with black chalk board paint dots.  If we ever get our tax return back we're going to put up a six foot tall composite privacy fence in the backyard and get an above ground pool.  We'd also like to get lagoon passes.  That is if we ever get our effing our money!  Oh oh, and drive ins!  So excited!

                                                                              Kri

In the beginning...

So, hi.  I've never been part of a blogging site, though I've always loved to write.  I quite often follow my friend Miss Angie's blog and find myself saying, I should try that, and so I have.  So how to begin... I have two to three beautiful children, it seems fitting to talk about them since they are what make my life wonderful, interesting, fun, irritating, blissfully happy, and exhausted!

This is my four year old daughter Kailee

 

Isn't she lovely!  She's turning five this summer and she's a spitfire.  She's so so smart and independent that it sometimes feel as though she's raising herself!  Kailee watches everything we do and remembers every word and action, and I am astounded by her on a regular basis.  I love that I can have adult conversations with her and every now and again she'll still be silly and little and sweet.  She's the apple of my eye that girl!

This is my two year old son Kaden...

So effing cute!  Kaden is my little cuddle buddy.  Besides being so smart, he's kind, and sensitive and sweet.  He shares everything he has with everyone, love, humor, hugs, and even his candy!  He gets away with more than he should because every word out of his mouth is high pitched and full of I love yous.  He's my baby!

 This Is Courtney...

 

Court is my husband's niece who lives with us.  You've never met a sweeter kid.  She's smart and kind and fun to talk to, and a big help around here!  She surprises me all the time with how mature she is.  I heard her on the phone just today telling a friend that she shouldn't do drugs because she's only thirteen and has her whole life ahead of her.  Courtney has a great head on her shoulders and I can't wait to see the person she will become.

Well, I suppose that's a good start for tonight, I'll try to post again tomorrow.

 Kri

Welcome

Hi this is Kristina, welcome to my blog, I'll post soon.